Carpe Posterum
by Mattwho81
Summary: During a perilous mission Pyrus squad fight valiantly alongside their kin but discover they must also battle to secure their Chapter's future. This story is a sequel to my previous story Omni Honore.
1. Chapter 1

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter1**

Orbital space was filled burning wreckage and dying men, defence stations and system defence boats exploding in sequence as they futilely tried to hold back the invaders. They fought with bravery and determination, they fought with everything they had but it was to no avail, the odds against them were impossible.

Ploughing through their ranks were the towering behemoths of Imperial warships, their weapon batteries and lances tearing through the paltry resistance with ease. Each and every one of them was an ancient and mighty giant of the void but none amongst them could match the titanic leviathan at their head, the legendary shape that was an Astartes Battlebarge.

Stacked weapon batteries along her flanks blazed away and her engines shone like captured stars as she swept forwards. Emblazoned on her armoured hide was the icon of the Storm Heralds and the ship's name: the Thunderlord.

She was a rampaging force of destruction, wading into the rebel defences and obliterating everything as she blasted open a corridor for the following Imperial fleet. A rebel defence monitor sallied forth in an attempt to break through the Thunderlord's shields, the battlebarge soaked up the barrage without taking a scratch and with a single volley swatted the offender like a bug.

Far below the green world was turning yet its serene visage was marred by rising forests of mushroom clouds and spreading clouds of a nuclear winter. These had been caused by the Battlebarge's Bombardment Canons raining down magma bombs across an entire continent.

Following hard on the tail of the opening bombardment were wave upon wave of drop pods, fighters and gunships. Stormhawk interceptor and Stormtalon attack craft flew ahead of Thunderhawks and Stormravens, they streamed from the Thunderlord's launch bays in an unstoppable tide bringing the Space Marines to war. The gunships dodged and weaved around the flaming debris and burnt out wrecks cluttering low orbit to become shooting stars as they hit the atmosphere and began decelerating.

Aboard one particular Thunderhawk twenty seven Space Marines were strapped into their restraint cages, jostling and bouncing with force enough to shatter mortal bones but this barely registering on their enhanced physiques. They were focussed and honed, ready for war and thirsty for action.

Amongst the din and howling of re-entry Sergeant Toran was looking around at the gathered squads, all of whom were from Ninth Company, he took their measure and evaluated each in turn. Alongside his own squad there was Sergeant Mikilas' squad who were armed with four heavy bolters and Sergeant Xanthur's squad who bore four missile launchers. They were all relaxed and joking as if on a pleasant jaunt not dropping straight into combat.

He turned and looked at his own Squad checking their readiness, brothers Furion, Jediah, Halis Paur and Daite were busy checking and rechecking their multi-meltas. Daite's augmetic arms were moving smoothly as pistons as his metal hands worked the fuel lines.

Besides them Novak was polishing his rapier, completely disregarding all weapon safety protocols as the shining steel shimmered the in the ruddy light from the inferno outside. Persion seemed to be sleeping in his jostling cage as the antenna of his enhanced vox array snapped back and forth like a whip yet Toran knew that he was completely aware of all that transpired around him.

Finally Toran turned to the last cage and looked at his newest recruit, brother Bylan standing apprehensively in his cage, looking uncomfortable in his newly issued mark VII plate. This was his first deployment as a full initiate and it showed in his repeated glances and restless fidgetting. Toran struggled to remember how it had felt to be so green but then his road to ascension had not been so fraught as Bylan's.

Brother Bylan had once been rejected from the scouts, not for any failings on his part but because of tragic genetic incompatibilities in his respiratory tract. He had been doomed to life as a serf until he had intervened to save Toran's life; the deed (and a pair of augmetic lungs) had seen him readmitted to the scouts.

Many of the Masters had opposed such an act and Toran had been forced to personally plead for Bylan to be given a chance. The Sergeant had done nothing else to bias the youth's chances and the Marine had ascended entirely on merit. Unfortunately from Toran's point of view the experience had left Bylan with a bad case of Hero worship.

The Sergeant yelled over the rattling of the fuselage, "Brother, have you completed all your checks?"

Bylan replied with the groaning wheeze of mechanical lungs and the harshness of a voice synthesiser, "+Yes master, I stand prepared+"

Toran sighed, "Bylan, I have told you I am your Sergeant now, you do not have to call me Master anymore."

"+It seems disrespectful+" replied Bylan.

"Well you are one of us now" said Toran, "Act like it."

From further down the racks Novak called out, "If he is an equal then let us have a wager, my second favourite combat blade against your virgin bolt pistol says I kill more rebels than you do!"

Next to him Persion said without opening his eyes, "Hardly fair, you have decades more experience than he does."

"Ah" replied Novak "But to make it interesting I shall use only my rapier!"

"You only say that because you are such a terrible shot" laughed Persion, "I bet the Ork skull I claimed on Glaeba against that shiny sword of yours that bolter to bolter young Bylan can wipe the grin off your old face!"

"Old?!" gasped Novak

Persion chuckled at the indignation in his tone and said, "I hate to break it to you brother but you are no longer the youngest face in the squad."

Novak turned to his squad mates and said, "Daite care to wade in, any visions about who will claim the greatest tally."

Daite sounded vexed as he replied, "You know it doesn't work like that."

Persion quipped, "Good job too or you would own all our armour and we would be forced to go into battle naked!"

Bylan didn't seem to know how to cope with the banter of Marines he had worshipped from afar all his life and Toran leaned in and said, "Pay no mind to them, when combat hits you will see their brotherhood in action."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Ninth Captain Phalros dropping into the troop bay from the cockpit. His artificer armour was gleaming with gold embellishments and his helm was crowned with a transverse crest, on one arm he bore the bulk of a power fist and at his belt was glorious bolt pistol.

He straightened up and said, "My ears must be deceiving me, I thought I heard my pious space marines engaged in the vices of ribaldry and gambling."

Toran answered him, "Just a little competitive rivalry to whet the brother's appetite for battle sir."

Phalros chuckled and said, "Well that is acceptable; now give me your eyes."

Everybody in the Thunderhawk fixed their gaze upon him as he declared, "As you all know in 983.M41 the governor of Angle's Landing announced this world's secession from the Imperium and declared himself the new god of the populace. Governor Brendan the Mad has been declared a heretic most foul and the Storm Heralds have claimed the honour of spearheading the Imperial assault, as is our right we shall be the first to set foot on this heretic world."

He was interrupted by a sudden jolt from all around and a change in pitch as the gunship swept through the Stratopause into the thicker air below. The ruddy light outside the viewportals faded to a pale blue and the engines changed tone as they switched to atmospheric flight.

Phalros steadied himself then activated a Hololith which displayed a large urban zone centred around a massive Fortress which doubled as the Governor's Palace. The Captain declared, "The Thunderlord has already reduced all major population centres to ash save the capital city and its adjoining spaceport which are too well void shielded to bombard. Fourth Company has inserted via drop pod just outside the shield umbrella and will break open the defence perimeter then proceed to capture the spaceport. The squads from Seventh and Ninth Companies will act as a mobile reserve, supporting the Battle Company and allowing them to secure the landing zones."

He paused to let that sink in then continued, "Whilst the Imperial Guard lands their forces at the spaceport we drive hard for the Palace. Captain Jossat has boasted that Fourth Company will have the Governor's head in their hands before the Guardsmen can even fire their first shot."

The gathered Space Marines were far too disciplined to gripe and moan but their sudden stiffness was their own way of protesting that yet again a Battle Company would take all the glory while they sat on the side-lines. Phalros was aware of their thoughts and said, "Worry not, the advanced scouts report Brendan the Mad has spent the last two years building up his thug armies to an impressive size including turning all local industry to the production of arms and fighting vehicles. Doubtless our skills will be sorely needed and there will be plenty of glory to go around this time."

The squads brightened up and Toran raised his voice to ask, "Captain are there any indications of the presence of Chaos on the planet?"

Phalros replied, "None detected, all signs point to this being just a pitiful civil rebellion."

Novak chipped in, "Well this should prove easy then."

Brother Furion spoke up at that comment and declared, "Do not be reckless, the galaxy is littered with the graves of Astartes who though they were in for an easy victory."

Phalros nodded in agreement, "Listen to your wise brother, I expect each of you to uphold the honour of Ninth Company this day. Our mission is to support Fourth Company and help them achieve their objectives, remember we may be separate companies but we are one Chapter, one brotherhood."

He began the ceremonial litany of the Chapter's avowed creed, "We are mankind's contempt for the Xenos, the bane of Chaos and the heretic's lament. We are the thunder that rolls between the night and the dawn; we are the lightning that burns away the corrupt: we are the Emperor's Storm."

The assembled squads replied with the time honoured war cry of the Chapter, "We are His wrath!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter2**

The Thunderhawk plunged down through the atmosphere drawing ever closer to its goal, it glided past flaming debris falling from above and soared over mushroom clouds rising from the ashes of cities. Soon it approached the capital of the planet and there it paused, taking up a holding pattern as it waited for the call deploy its cargo.

On board the squads of Ninth Company were waiting, their unique skills being held in reserve until they were needed most. In his restraint cage Novak was impatiently tapping on the metal bars in a simple rhythm, finally he rolled his head back and in a bored tone said, "Do you think we will even get to see the objective this time?"

"Anything is possible" replied Persion "We may even get to set foot inside the Heretic's Palace this time."

"Imagine that" said Novak in a distant voice, "Imagine the glory of being the tip of the spear, the cutting edge of the Chapter's blade that ends this rebellion with one stroke."

Furion looked over and said in admonishment, "Your zeal does you credit but take care lest you stray into vanity and pride, a Space Marine's first thought should always be of his duty."

Toran agreed with the sage council and said, "It does not matter who takes the heretic's head, once this is over be content in knowing that the deed is done and we played our part."

Novak bowed his head in response but didn't seem humbled at all, Toran sighed to himself and reflected that while his dashing brother may dream of winning glory in a battle company his often flippant and cavalier attitude made that impossible. It was a shame in a way for Novak was one of the finest blades the Sergeant had ever seen, possibly even a contender for the rank of Company Champion and that skill had seen him elevated into the Space Marines.

Yet his lack of humility was most unbecoming and it prevented him ascending further in the ranks, in fact it was this very flaw that had seen him sent to Pyrus squad in the first place. Toran was snapped back to reality as the Thunderhawk was buffeted by turbulence and he heard Novak continuing on to say, "Angle's Landing, who names a whole world Angle's Landing?"

Bylan spoke up and said earnestly, "+That would be the Rogue Trader Roderico Angle, who discovered this minor tributary off the major Warp routes and all the systems it led to. He found and named the world of Angle's Landing as well as Angle's Glory and Angle's Rest: so great were his discoveries that he was made governor of his own homeworld which he immediately renamed Angle's Redoubt.+"

Persion chipped in, "You forgot to mention Clom."

"Clom?!" snorted Halis from opposite him, "Who'd want Clom?"

Novak however was staring at the new recruit and said, "Bylan... did you read the Administratum's entire briefing report end to end?"

Bylan sounded puzzled and said, "+Of course I did... were we not meant to?+"

That generated a laugh from the whole squad at the new brother's innocent question and Furion said gently, "Something you will learn is that the Administratum will not be content until it generates enough paperwork to choke the Eye of Terror, once we return to the ship I will show you how to skim just the relevant details from their files."

Bylan was surprised and said, "+But are we not required to know every detail of the battlefield?+"

Daite chipped in to say, "If we read every word the Administratum sends us then there would be no time left in the day for fighting."

The Marine's camaraderie was suddenly interrupted by a bang from outside the Thunderhawk and the entire gunship yawed to one side as a voice yelled from the cockpit, "Lightning fighter on our tail!"

"Hold on" Captain Phalros shouted from the front hatch as he grabbed onto a support rail, "This is going to be rough!"

The world seemed to roll and massive G-forces suddenly crushed everybody back into their restraint cages as the Thunderhawk banked hard and took evasive action. The juddering, shaking noise of the engines filled the universe and the Space Marines could do nothing but grit their teeth as they held on to the bars of their support racks.

Through the howling noise Brother Jediah broke his typical sullen silence to shout, "Warp Hells where are the Stormhawks, this air space was supposed to be secure, I will have someone's head for this!"

Nobody answered him though for they were all being thrown about in their cages, helms banging off the sides of the bars as they were shaken fiercely. Toran held on tightly and gritted his teeth in frustration, like most Astartes he despised this part of warfare, being trapped helplessly inside a transport while others fought on his behalf.

With his feet on the ground he could determine his own fate but now he was just useless cargo, utterly impotent to change anything. He heard the thudding of counter measures being released from the fuselage as the Thunderhawk violently wrenched about to come up in a new direction.

Toran had no way of knowing if they had just avoided a missile or something else, he did not know if they were fighting one enemy or many, he could not even tell if were running or turning to engage. He tuned in his vox to the pilot's frequency and listened to their yelling but understood little, without being able to see their points of reference he could not follow their jargon and all he could do was hold on and wait for victory or instant obliteration.

The Space Marines were helpless and blind in this scenario, barely better than mortal men as they were thrown about. The world spun or heaved around them and there were occassional flashes of sunlight and darkened skies peeking through the cockpit above them.

Most on board gritted their teeth and awaited their fate but Toran heard someone from the other squads intoning the litanies of fortitude and patience. He saw Bylan gripping fiercely to the bars of his restraint cage and realised that the novice had only ever done this in training before now, his deployments in the Scout had certainly been more stealthy than this.

Toran reached over and banged on the side of the cage and roared, "Hold steady brother, your not a real Space Marine until you have done least one gut wrenching landing."

Bylan tried to nod and held on grimly as the Thunderhawk bucked its nose upwards.

Then suddenly there was the distinct noise of Lascannons firing from the wingtips and a bright flash reflected down from the cockpit. A moment later the Thunderhawk levelled off flying straight and level, Toran assumed they had killed their pursuer but he had no time to enquire.

Captain Phalros had been standing unmoved by the front hatch the entire time and he was now barking orders, "Fourth Company have entered the Spaceport, resistance is light but orbital scans reveal an armoured column moving up from the city. We must intercept that counterattack lest they stab our Brothers in the flank."

The Thunderhawk suddenly tilted and the Marines floated in free fall as the gunship dove for the ground and Phalros shouted, "Form up for deployment." Immediately the Astartes mag-locked their boots to the deck as their restraint cages rose up over their heads, heavy weapons were clasped tightly to the chests of many and the rest double checked their bolters.

Seemingly oblivious to the bucking of the fuselage and the tilting gravity the three squads formed up in perfect alignment around the front and side hatches. Without warning the Thunderhawk pulled up and braked hard in a manoeuvre that would have snapped any standard imperial dropship in two.

The Space Marines swayed as the manoeuvre shook them but not one lost his footing as it levelled out and came to a slow hover. The hatches whined open revealing a dirty and dilapidated urban environment before them with no signs of hostiles anywhere.

Phalros yelled, "Deploy!" and Sergeant Toran was the first out the hatch, charging forth into war.


	3. Chapter 3

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter3**

In the city there was a roadway sandwiched between deserted buildings, long and broad enough for two cargo-8s to pass unmolested. To the casual observer it was abandoned and derelict, the inhabitants long since fled or dragged off to the labour camps but they could not have been more wrong.

Concealed within the squat buildings were the Storm Heralds, all alert and waiting for the enemy they knew would have to pass this way. They were expertly hidden, only a thorough building by building sweep would have revealed them but that was something they had no intention of letting the enemy doing.

From a second story window Sergeant Toran looked out across the street, the roadway was lined by lumen poles that cast wan light in the dim twilight caused by the Void shields high above. From the lumen poles hung the decaying corpses of men and women, those who had refused to bow down and worship the former governor and now self-proclaimed god; Bendan the Mad.

Toran reflected the man must indeed be mad to think his paltry thugs could resist the might of Imperial retribution and that he would evade justice. Most insurrectionists gleefully embraced the Dark Gods but there had been no signs of that here, just his thug armies and their slovenly brutality.

The Sergeant peered down the roadway and checked the angles of fire, he could not see any of his fellow Storm Heralds but knew Xanthar's missile launchers were waiting at the far end to spring the ambush. Mikilas had spread his heavy bolters along the length of the roadway, spacing them out to ensure there would be no escape route, Captain Phalros was with them to better direct their fire and command the whole operation.

Thirty Space Marines against everything the rebels could summon, it was almost pitiful how outmatched the heretics were.

Toran dragged his thoughts back to the here and now as he heard echoes reverberating down the street, the rumble of treads announcing the arrival of a long column of armoured vehicles. They crushed debris beneath their tracks and knocked over lumen posts with their bulk as they advanced down the roadway.

Toran felt his estimation of the foe drop considerably as he realised they were driving tanks through an urban environment without bothering to deploy a screen of infantry. If they were overconfident enough to think two years of oppressing civilians made them ready to face the Emperor's finest then they deserved everything they got.

In the lead were a pair of Urdesh pattern AT70 'Reaver' tanks, their armour was relatively light and they were armed only with a heavy stubber and twin-linked turret mounted Autocanons. Behind them were dozens of open topped half-tracks, rumbling along with their passengers looking out at everything but the pertinent blind spots and concealing cover. Their sloppiness was evident in the casual way they held their lasrifles and the fact they were ducking to light Iho sticks or removing their helms to mop sweaty brows.

They drove past Toran's position without pausing, pair after pair of half-tracks and AT70's rumbling along but then there came something much more dangerous: a Leman Russ tank. It was a giant amongst the scrappy local vehicles, armed with a hull mounted lascanon and a main battlecanon that made it by far the most pressing threat in the column.

Behind it were more half-tracks and finally another pair of AT70's bringing up the rear, sixty vehicles in all carrying over five hundred men. A full armoured assault intended to repel the invaders and retake the spaceport, the Storm Heralds however were not going to give them the chance.

Without warning the street ahead exploded into violence as four missiles shot out from the upper floors of the buildings and slammed into the leading pair of AT70's. The Krak missiles speared down to impact the tanks on their lighter top armour and punched straight through to detonate inside, killing all aboard.

The vehicles erupted into flames and swerved across the roadway to completely block it, the vehicles behind crashed into the flaming wrecks as the drivers failed to react in time and an instant roadblock was formed. The rebels stood up in their half tracks and lost precious seconds as they tried to understand what was happening and in that moment Sergeant Toran cried, "Now!"

From both sides of the street windows shattered as Pyrus squad exploded out of hiding, landing on the ground effortlessly with their power armoured legs. They hit the Ferrocrete street running, bounding towards the rearmost AT70's which were paning their turrets around but the tanks were just too slow. In moments the Marines had closed within the reach of the deadly but short ranged Multi-Meltas and Furion, Jediah, Halis and Daite opened fire.

Four beams of sub-molecular fusion fire lanced into the engine blocks of the tanks, plasteel armour liquefied and ran like ice before a blowtorch and the beams tore onwards. Splatters of metal flew out and sizzled on the ground as the beams punched ever deeper until finally they hit the fuel reserves. Two great explosions bloomed upwards and a scalding heat wave rolled over all those close by but safe in their Ceramite armour Pyrus squad was untouched.

The rebels finally realised they were under attack and piled out of their vehicles firing wildly at anything they could see but they were caught in a Codex pattern killbox and exposed for the killing blow. All along the length of the concourse giant figures appeared in the windows, firing down into the milling throng with their bolters. Bodies were blown apart by the mass reactive shells and dozens of rebels were executed without even managed to land a return shot, then the heavy bolters came into play.

From the rooftops four furious torrents rained down, tearing into the milling crowds and obliterating dozens of men at a time. The rate of fire was stupendous and even from the far end of the street Toran could feel his teeth chattering from the vibrations of the fusillade as the foe fell like wheat before a scythe.

Meanwhile the remaining AT70's had been tracking around, firing off their autocannons sporadically at anything that moved. Stone splinters were sent flying from building facades with every shot but they didn't even faze the Astartes who poured on fire relentlessly.

Sergeant Xanthar appeared at a window and directed his Missile launchers to take out tank after tank in a methodical sweep. The plumes of fire walking forward to drive the heretics back into the waiting guns of Pyrus squad who mowed them down easily with bolter rounds and Multi-melta fire.

The rebel convoy was boxed in on both sides, facing a foe whom they could not even hurt and had no mercy for them whatsoever. Many men broke and ran trying to find cover in shattered windows and doorways but the Astartes targeted these with bolter rifles and herded them into huddles for the heavy weapons to finish off.

Toran saw all this happening as he emptied his bolt pistol at fleeing rebles and thought for a moment that they had achieved a bloodless victory but then the Leman Russ roared its fury. Spinning its turret around the massive barrel was elevated up and in a plume of fire it sent a shell hurtling into the nearest building.

The facade simply disintegrated in a shower of bricks and the floors behind collapsed downwards to spill half a dozen armoured figures to the ground. They tumbled down and hit the road hard yet recovered quickly and rose from the rubble spilling ash from their joints but before they could reform the tank's lascanon spoke. A blazing spear of light impaled a brother right in the chestplate and instantly burned through him to leave a hole the size of a man's fist through his hearts.

The pinned Astartes threw themselves into cover as missiles flew down to hit the tank but they only glanced off the thick armour plates and the Leman Russ survived the volley. They fired their bolters from cover but the rounds could not penetrate the glacis plate and it stood completely invulnerable to their volley.

Sergeant Toran saw that all alone the tank could yet reap a fearful tally and it could not be suffered to live a moment longer. Apparently Captain Phalros agreed for he came on the vox and ordered, "Pyrus squad take out that tank now!"

"We must clear a path for the Meltas, follow me!" Toran roared as he began carving a route through the teeming heretics, he drew his shining power sword and laid about as its energy field carved foes in two. The rebels tried to fall back before him but were pressed forwards by the mass of men pushing from behind and with no other choice they drew bayonets and attacked.

The crowds of screaming men mobbed forward and Toran felt like he was pressing against the incoming tide as he waded forwards, his power sword rising and falling relentlessly, each blow carving apart two or three men at a time. Besides him Novak was slashing and hacking with his rapier, his usual grace and élan rendered moot in this crush. He was reduced to chopping away like a butcher and his anger showed in the fury of his blows.

Persion however looked to be in his element, stabbing savagely with his blade to rip apart all who stood before him, men grappled and hacked at him in response but his armour was sound and he drove forwards leaving a trail of broken bodies in his wake. Bylan however was following too close on Toran's heels to be effective and the Sergeant had to yell, "Damn it, don't tag along like a lost pup, spread out and provide cover for your brothers!"

The youth moved to obey and stepped away to broaden their line, with four Space Marines thrusting forward the mobs parted like the sea before a boat and many men ran past to flee thus allowing them to approached the Leman Russ. The tank commander had made the cowardly error of buttoning himself up in the turret instead of looking out and so had no idea Pyrus squad was stalking him.

Toran could see the turret barrel depressing to fire directly at the entrenched Astartes and he immediately stepped aside to allow the multi-meltas a clear shot. The heavy weapon brothers braced and from point blank range fired as one, the four beams punching through the rear armour in less than one second to plunge deeply within and find the ammunition stack.

The Leman Russ was actually lifted into the air by the force of the explosion, flipping over to land on its turret and crush a dozen rebels in a pile of jagged metal. The force of the blast swept over Pyrus squad merely singeing their armour but setting fire to anyone else in range.

The sight of the devastation snapped the little courage the thug soldiers had left and they turned to run back the way they had come, chased all the way by bolter rounds and scores more of them were shot in the back as they ran. A handful of rebels lived to flee the scene but they would not get far for the Storm Heralds held the field.

Toran raised his shining sword high for all to see and cried, "Victory!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter4**

The spaceport was a bustle of activity as massive drop ships lowered themselves from orbit onto the elevated towers of the landing pads. Buzzing anti-grav engines created swirling winds that whipped everything to and fro while men ran back and forth busy with industrious toil.

From the drop ships marched endless formations of Guardsmen followed by Leman Russ tanks, Chimeras, Hydra batteries and Basilisks. They proceeded down freshly painted lines, marked out by Munitorum functionaries, towards assembly yards and parade grounds where they would await their orders.

It was not just fighting men unloading from the drop ships though, Trojan vehicles dragged massive pallets of supplies, munitions and prefabricated building components: everything the Imperial Guard would need for a long occupation. The lines of men seemed never ending and as was typical for the Imperial Guard there were the usual traffic jams, confused orders and lost supplies going all over the place.

As the Guard continued its inexorable preparations for war a similar but more elegant effort was taking place, just outside the perimeter of the Spaceport Thunderhawk Transporters were bringing down the Storm Herald's heavier equipment. Dreadnoughts, Predators, Razorbacks and even preassembled armouries, barracks and a moveable Chapel were being dropped into place and unpacked by Servitor drones. The process was fast and streamlined, with all the efficiency and diligence one would expect from successors of the XIIIth legion.

As Vindicators, Land Raiders and Rhinos were deposited in the marked out pads a meeting was taking place. Standing by the open ramp of a Damocles command Rhino the senior commanders of the Astartes taskforce force were being briefed.

Toran was standing with Captain Phalros who had ordered him to attend as his equerry, he had said it would be good for the Sergeant's education but had made it clear that he did not have rank enough to actually say anything. Phalros' helm was off to reveal his patrician almost statesmanlike features and he looked glorious in his magnificent artificer armour. Yet the Ninth captain was not in command of the Storm Heralds taskforce: that honour fell to Fourth Captain Jossat.

The battle captain was an aggressive and heavily scarred warrior who was filled with a vital energy and drive that made it seem like he always wanted to be charging into war. There was much to admire about such a man yet Toran found himself being put on edge by the Captain.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was a fervent Emperor worshipper or maybe it was the way he was talking like he had won the initial battles single handed. Jossat was reviewing the action so far and taking all the credit, skimming over the efforts of his own men and certainly not mentioning the victory of Ninth Company in the city.

Standing next to him was Sergeant Mylos who was speaking for the squads of Seventh Company, one of his legs had been replaced with an augmetic and his helm bore the transverse crest of marksmanship laurels. He and Toran had fought together before and unfortunately there was bad blood between them, a petty grudge that had festered and soured.

Toran was trying not to think ill of the other Sergeant but was finding his tendency to agree with every word Jossat said to be somewhat sycophantic. Secrectly Toran suspected that Mylos sought advancement to a Battle Company by toadying up to his superior.

Next to Mylos was Scout Sergeant Nimodes who was master of the taskforces' scout elements, he was a grizzled veteran with more experience than anyone else present. His hard won wisdom was indeed sound but the downside of that was that he tended to treat everybody else as an unblooded aspirant.

The final member of the assembly was Sergeant Starn of First Company, leader of the taskforce's sole Terminator squad. He towered over everybody in the awe inspiring bulk of his Tactical dreadnought armour, his face barely visible over his high gorget. His scarred visage proclaimed centuries of service and the long litany of his victories was woven onto a banner flying above his shoulders.

He was veritable hero of the Chapter who had survived countless suicide missions which he loudly attributed to his dogmatic application of the Codex Astartes. Many called him pedantic, unimaginative and inflexible which he took as high praise.

Jossat addressed the group saying, "The spaceport is secure and Guard are deploying their forces but we will not wait for their plodding grunts to get into line. We will strike through the rebels positions hard and fast in an armoured assault then drive straight on for the Governor's Palace."

Sergeant Nimodes spoke up and said, "It will take some time for my scouts to infiltrate ahead and reconnoitre your route for potential ambushes."

Jossat overrode him and said, "There will be no need for scouts, we will just drive right through the heart of the foe before they can even resist."

That declaration sent concern racing around the circle and Sergeant Starn spoke in a gritty rasp, "The Codex Astartes does not support such an action; the Primarch clearly wrote that armour cannot advance through an urban environment without an infantry screen."

Sergeant Mylos spoke up and said, "There will be infantry support, as soon as we break their line Seventh Company will race ahead and sweep the road clear."

The conversation was interrupted as a pair of Stormtalons roared overhead, dashing off under the Void shield umbrella to attack vital targets in the city.

They paused until the noise faded to an audible level then Phalros interjected "You only have four squads, such an action will over stretch you and leave you exposed."

Mylos sneered and said "Maybe the dregs of Ninth Company are not up to the task but Seventh Company is ready, willing and able."

Nimodes scowled and he spoke up to say, "Brother, is that how you address a Captain?"

Mylos' face fell as he realised he had overstepped his authority and he bowed his head as he said, "I have no excuse for my disrespect sir, I offer penance."

Phalros decided to be magnanimous and said, "No offence was taken, your confidence in your men is inspiring yet I must reiterate that this whole action may leave us perilously over extended."

"Much must be risked in war" said Captain Jossat scowling at the criticism, "With the squads from Seventh company screening our advance we will reach the Palace gate, then our Vindicators will break open the Fortress. Starn I want your Terminators at the tip of the spear, Fourth Company will follow you in and crush all resistance within the Palace. Dreadnoughts will be held in reserve to deploy where needed most while the squads from Ninth Company will act as the rear-guard against counter attacks."

Sergeant Starn grimly said, "The Codex Astartes estimates that this course of action with our present forces could produce up to forty percent casualty rates."

"Acceptable losses" said Jossat dismissively, "We are Astartes and we shall know no fear."

Everybody nodded their head in acceptance of this, all save Captain Phalros who crossed his arms and said, "There is no need for us to rush, this plan could see us advancing straight into an ambush. The Imperial Guard are the hammer of the Emperor, together our might would be unstoppable, it would cost us nothing but time."

Captain Jossat now was looking furious and said "I will not let some lowly Guard general steal my glory, we will attack the second the vehicles finish unloading. I have sworn that i will have the heretic governor's head in my hand this very day, now you are all dismissed."

With their orders given the Space Marines saluted and turned to walk away, each signalling preparations ahead as they marched. Phalros and Toran were walking together, they dodged around munition trucks and paused to let a Predator tank rumble by, they took it all in and found it to be a picture of efficient productivity. Captain Phalros however seemed most unsettled and said, "This is going to cost us."

Toran looked at his captain and said, "The Codex Astartes calls for us to strike hard and fast but this is just rushing, why is Jossat being so sloppy?

Phalros snapped, "CAPTAIN Jossat is in command here and we will obey his orders, a Battle Captain needs to be aggressive and determined, a desire to triumph against the odds is practically a prerequisite."

Toran wasn't convinced and said, "Even so it seems there is more going on here than a simple thirst for glory, there is some agenda at work here."

Phalros' face was a picture of discomfort and he did not look at Toran as he confessed, "Discontent with Chapter Master Gorgall's policies is becoming more and more vocal, matters are coming to a head and his critics are not even bothering to guard their words anymore."

He drew in a breath and continued, "Captain Josssat has frequently argued against fighting alongside conventional Imperial forces, he thinks we should be proud to stand alone. To complete this war swiftly and completely on our own would humiliate Gorgall and elevate Captain Jossat's position amongst the Master's councils."

"Politics!" spatToran in disgust, "Astartes should be above such petty concerns."

Phalros drew in long breath and said "Human nature permeates all that we are and we cannot afford to ignore that fact. Treat this like you would any other battle: know your foe, gather your allies and hit them where they are weakest."

Toran eyed his Captain suspiciously and said "What are you suggesting sir?"

Phalros replied evenly, "Nothing untoward, merely that we focus on the correct execution of our duties. We show the dissenters the proper way to prosecute a war and that we are strongest when we stand with our allies."

Toran nodded in agreement as they approached Ninth Company's mustering ground, Phalros and the Sergeant parted ways each going to prepare their forces for the coming assault. Toran soon found Pyrus squad outside an armoury restocking their weapons and repairing gouges in their armour plate with quick drying cement paste.

They saw Toran stomping up and Persion called, "What are our orders Sergeant?"

Toran answered, "We are joining a full armoured assault on the Palace."

There was a brief exchange of amused glances around the squad and Toran cocked his head questioningly at Persion who said with a hint of mirth, "While you've been gone Halis has been telling everybody this would be another sewer run… he's been quite insistent on the matter."

Halis resolutely fixed his gaze on the bolter he was studiously cleaning and did not say a word as Toran said, "Not this time, this time we get to form a rear-guard with the artillery."

That elicited a groan from Novak who said, "We are to babysit Vindicators while the battle company gets all the glory?"

"An essential duty" interrupted Furion in admonishment, ""Would you expect your brothers to advance on the objective without being confident their backs were covered?"

"These are our orders" said Toran briskly, "Now get in a Rhino, we are moving out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter5**

The inside of the Rhino was a jostling rattle of noise and motion, the tracked vehicle grinding along the main thoroughfare at nearly top speed. Inside the Space Marines gripped their weapons tightly and waited for war, the top hatch was open so Persion and Novak could sweep for threats with their bolters yet they had seen none.

In fact the entire operation was going surprisingly smoothly, the armoured spearhead of Rhinos, Predators and Vindicators had punched through the rebel's outer perimeter with ease and raced unopposed into the city. Sergeant Toran was lost in thought, mulling over the situation and thinking about the wider implications. Perhaps Captain Jossat had been right after all which boded ill for the future of the Chapter's leaders.

From across the troop bay Daite looked over and said, "Is something wrong sergeant?"

Toran rubbed his chin and muttered, "This is going too well."

Bylan sounded confused and said, "+How can something be going too well?+"

Halis was checking the action of his bolter yet spoke up and said, "If everything is going right… something is wrong."

Bylan replied, "+I do not recall that passage from the Codex Astartes+"

Halis replied, "Codex Vol II, Chapter IV verse XCV 'Hold out bait to entice the enemy, feign disorder and crush him.'"

Bylan said, "+You think this is a trap, you think we are being deceived?+"

Daite snorted and replied, "Halis thinks everything is a deception, he has a mind like a corkscrew."

Any further conversation was interrupted by Persion yelling, "Gate's in sight!"

Toran slammed his helm on and drew his weapons saying, "Form up."

The Rhino screeched to a halt and Pyrus squad piled out, before them rose the towering Adamantium gate that blocked their path into Brendan's Fortress. It was flanked on both sides by two Ferrocrete donjons from which protruded a forest of mortars, heavy bolters and Lascanons.

Between the Space Marines and the gate was a mountain of rubble, former buildings and tenements that had been demolished to create a killing ground scattered with tank traps and deadfalls. Four whole city blocks had been levelled, then filled with thousands of rebels who were dug in and well-armed. The squad grimaced at the sight and Halis muttered, "I think I have just figured out where all the rebels went."

From their position they could see that Fourth Company was already engaged, fighting hard as they advanced into the teeth of enemy fire. They met the foe head to head even as the donjons rained down destruction upon their heads. Even as Toran watched he saw the Tactical squads leapfrogging each other, racing forwards to clear foxholes then providing suppressing fire for their brothers to push past them.

A constant hail of shells and lasfire fell upon them both from the enemy lines and the donjons but the Space Marines trusted their armour to hold true and pressed the attack. Still so thick was the incoming fire that they were leaving a trail of blue armoured bodies behind them as they slowly smashed their way through the teeming enemy.

Pyrus squad could see Captain Jossat was at the tip of the spear, leading his Marines by example in the furious assault. Even as they watched a Lascannon blast caught him in the chest but it was deflected by the shimmering aura of his Iron Halo and he was unharmed.

The battlefield was a furious medley of noise, violence and death with random explosions everywhere and the screams of dying mortals or Transhumans creating a hideous undercurrent. This was siege warfare, the most brutal and unforgiving form of battle where insanity and cruelty infect all: exactly the kind of fight in which Space Marines excelled.

Toran was shaken out of his reverie as Captain Phalros's voice came over the vox ordering, "Mikilas get those Heavy bolters into an elevated position, Xanthur load frag missiles and rain down hell. Pyrus squad stick close to the Vindicators as they advance, keep them intact at all costs."

Swiftly the squads got into position and joined the battle, Pyrus squad taking point in front of the three grinding Vindicators as they followed Fourth Company's advance. The devastators and Predators soon opened fire bringing down a torrent of firepower upon the rebel positions, blasting away entrenched heavy weapons and knots of milling enemies.

The enemy lines had been shattered by the assault but still random soldiers dashed towards the tanks, Pyrus squad picked them off one by one letting nothing threaten the tanks. Then there was a sudden rush of movement on the left and Toran saw hundreds of fresh rebels charging out of cover to outflank the assault.

Only a single Tactical squad stood in their way, firing precise shots from their bolters they killed scores of rebels but the numbers were too great and it was inevitable that they would be overrun. Captain Phalros called over the vox "Toran divert left and provide assistance." Instantly Pyrus squad responded, breaking left and racing to their beleaguered brothers, as they ran they picked off closing targets one by one with bolters and multi-meltas.

Toran ran to the squad leader and realised that it was Mylos who was in trouble, the other Sergeant saw him coming and snarled, "We don't need help from the likes of you!" Toran raised his bolt pistol and fired a burst that cut two rebels in half as he yelled, "Is this really the time to argue?"

Mylos snarled but did not protest further as the wave of rebels poured over the rubble, screaming in fury as they raced towards them. Toran instantly saw that there were too many to pick off individually as they had been doing: more extreme measures were required.

Toran shouted, "Parade formation!" and instantly the two squads formed up in a straight line. It took four precious seconds for the Marines to get in position as the rebels dashed ever nearer but then they were ready. As the men closed within spitting distance Toran raised his bolt pistol and shouted, "Overwatch: Rapid Fire!"

As one the bolters and Meltas erupted to throw out a wave of destruction, the fusillade hit the charging rebels like threshing machine cutting them down in droves and the front rank of men just disintegrated. Bodies exploded under the force of the barrage to cover the next rank in gore as the Space Marines relentlessly poured on fire, killing wave after wave of men as they emptied their bolters.

The carnage was unimaginable and the number of dead could not be guessed, so great was the bloodshed that the following rebels faltered, unable to believe the horror before their eyes. Yet as the Marines paused to reload a rebel officer waved a notched sabre and began yelling at the men around him to press forwards.

Toran saw the officer rallying the foe and he raised his bolt pistol but before he could pull the trigger the man's forehead crumpled as a sniper round went straight through it. Toran glanced around looking for whoever had fired the shot but he could not see any scouts anywhere.

A dozen more rebels fell as sniper rounds punched into them and Toran realised though he might not be able to see Sergeant Nimodes it was apparent the veteran was making his novices most useful. Facing an unbeatable foe and beset by invisible killers the rebel's courage broke, they turned their backs and ran but were mowed down by the vengeful Space Marines and not one escaped.

Toran turned to Mylos and said "Well done brother" but the Sergeant merely span about and stomped furiously away without saying a word. Toran took a moment to sigh and looked to see how his squad could get back into the battle but realised that events had moved on without him.

At the very tip of the spear Captain Jossat had finally led his Company right up to the gates themselves and there they fell upon the entrenched defenders. A furious barrage from the Tactical squads killed dozens and made the rest duck their heads then with perfect timing the assault squads rose up on plumes of fire and plummeted down again. The impact of their landing threw cowering men face first into the mud as the assault marines laid about with their vicious chainswords.

In a frenzy of bloodletting a hole was torn in the rebel lines and through that gap the three Vindicator tanks finally rolled into range. Fire rained down upon them from on high but it merely glanced off their dozer blades and left them undamaged. They ground into position then paused as they elevated the stubby barrels of their Demolisher canons, the battle seemed to pause for an instant, then they fired.

Three squat shells erupted from the Vindicators and slammed into the donjons, sending massive shockwaves through their structures. Rock and dust were sent flying and long cracks raced across both their facades but they were not broken yet. A return salvo of heavy fire hit the tanks and ripped into their armour, breaking plates and gouging them deeply.

Inexorably the Vindicators reloaded and then fired again, the shells ruptured the front of the donjons and gouged massive craters in their bulwarks. Yet now the rebels had learned from their mistakes and this time the donjons concentrated all their fire on one tank. A massive explosion ripped the Vindicator apart and blew a cloud of black smoke into the air but it was just too late to change the outcome of the battle.

The remaining pair of Vindicators fired one last time and finally they penetrated the outer fortifications to burrow deeply within. The shells detonated inside the structures and blew apart their internal supports. The buildings collapsed like a concertina as the upper floors fell down onto those beneath and those below them smashing them apart in a chain reaction.

From outside the donjons seemed to just crumble, spilling detritus, weapons and flailing bodies to the ground. With the donjons gone the great Adamantium gate teetered comically then slowly it fell forwards like a toppled tree. It slammed into the dirt creating a vast cloud of choking grit that clogged respirators and blinded eye lenses.

The Space Marines cheered even as they wiped their helms clear and Captain Jossat cried, "Charge!"

The Astartes leapt forwards, racing over the ash drenched rubble to enter the breech but were brought up short, for something was emerging from behind the devastation: something massive.

A shadow three times the height of a Space Marine yet far wider than that was coming through the smoke. It rumbled forwards on tracks the width of a street cab as it pulverised stone to powder with its awesome weight. It had sponsons festooned with lascannons and heavy bolters but that was the least of its armaments.

On its front hull was a short canon wide enough to fit a grown man and from its wide turret protruded a huge canon that dwarfed any conventional weapon. It was an ancient monster of war, a silhouette instantly recognisable to every soldier in the galaxy and one that promised inevitable death.

The Storm Heralds stood aghast and so Sergeant Toran was the first to yell, "Baneblade!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter 6**

Through the broken remains of the gateway came the awesome bulk of the Baneblade, crushing bodies to paste as its massive tracks rolled forwards. It was a legend made real, a power that had turned the course of countless war and bearing weapons that had broken whole armies.

It was not alone either, from behind it poured rivers of fresh rebel troops, all eager for the fray and confident of victory with the behemoth looming over them. Facing overwhelming numbers of fresh foes, backed by an unstoppable Super Heavy war machine capable of wiping them all out, the Storm Heralds reacted the only way Astartes knew how: they attacked.

The Space Marines threw themselves into the fray, hacking and blasting away at a wall of enemies, they could not hope to win but knowing the cost of their deaths would be high. Everywhere transhuman giants smashed and crushed mortal men but the ocean of enemies was overwhelming and they were drowning in foes.

While this was occurring the remaining Vindicators were spinning on their tracks to bring their Demolisher canons to bear on the Baneblade. They hurriedly lowered their stocky barrels and fired at point blank range hurling two fortress shattering shells into the behemoth's front plate.

The impacts sent fire racing over the bow of the war machine and created a backdraft shockwave that flung grappling warriors flying, even those in heavy power armour. The Baneblade barely seemed to notice the blows, rolling forwards like an avalanche to crush all before it heedless of their allegiances.

The massive turret inched round and the absurdly long barrel depressed to target the nearest Vindicator. With a roar that ruptured eardrums of anyone nearby the Baneblade canon spoke and a single shell slammed into the defiant tank.

The front dozer blade shattered from the force of the impact and the Vindicator was physically hurled backwards on its tracks. It fell still and silent with a massive smoking hole drilled right through it from front to back but the Baneblade was not done yet.

The sponson Lascanons swivelled round and unleashed a barrage at the other Vindicator, riddling it with fire. The tank took the salvo on its front armour and the crew survived behind the thick plate but the Demolisher canon was reduced to a molten mess and rendered useless. Effectively weapon less the Vindicator had no choice but to retreat, driving backwards through the milling enemy as it fell back.

While all this had been occurring Pyrus squad had been advancing up the left flank, keeping the foe penned in with bolter and melta fire. From here they could see the battle was turning against the Space Marines, the vast tide of rebels slowly surrounding them and rolling over them. Toran didn't know how he could change the outcome save that if they could take down the Baneblade the Astartes might have a chance, but then he saw something that made his heart leap.

Charging at full speed through the ranks of rebels was a gloriously embossed Land Raider Crusader, its hurricane bolters and assault canons unleashing devastation. It crashed into the very heart of the enemy force and ground to a halt as its front ramp slammed down, then from within emerged five monstrous brutes in the thickest armour imaginable.

With a cry of vengeance on his lips Sergeant Starn led his Terminators to war with his power fist sparking and his banner flying proudly in the wind. A monsoon of lasfire rose to meet the Terminators but they just shrugged it off their superior plate and not one fell: then they charged.

The effect on the rebels was akin to a grenade going off in a clenched fist as the Teminators bulldozed into battle. Storm bolters razed down dozens of rebels at a time and power fists rose and fell over and over like irresistible pistons, smashing men apart.

Everything the Terminators targeted died, nothing could stand before them and they waded through the enemy bringing down the Emperor's judgement upon them. Rebels ran at them screaming in fury but their blows pattered harmless off the legendary plate and in return the mighty veterans obliterated everything within reach.

It was a charge worthy of legend, the kind of tale that would endure for a thousand years and be told to aspirants for generations to come. In only a few seconds the Terminators had turned the course of the entire battle and there were only five of them: just five.

But then the Baneblade saw them.

The mighty tank paused in its advance and turned slightly to bring its hull demolisher canon to bear; the wide canon adjusted its elevation slightly then it fired. The shell hit the ground right by the Terminator's feet and the veterans disappeared in a titanic explosion.

Tactical Dreadnought armour was the finest protection anywhere in the Imperium, it could wade through plasma fire and withstand forces that should crush a tank, but it could not ignore physics. The mighty plate protected those wearing it but the force of the explosion sent them flying, throwing them high into the air to smash down again hard on their backs. The veterans were alive but Terminator was not known for its agility and getting back on their feet would be no simple matter, they were effectively neutralised for now.

While the fight had been raging Pyrus squad had managed to force their way up the lightly guarded left flank and were now at the former site of the donjons. Sergent Toran saw his chance and yelled, "Charge!" as he ran towards the Baneblade.

Dozens of rebels stood between them but he lashed out left and right with his power sword to cut down all in the way. Novak's blade was a blur of steel as he thrust and slashed, slicing apart anyone who came close while Persion simply crushed his foes, taking the simplest route to end his opponents. Behind them Bylan raced with his bolter barking, blasting any foes whom the others missed and might threaten the precious Multi-Meltas.

Swiftly Pyrus squad approached the rear of the Baneblade and Toran cut aside the last defenders before yelling, "Open fire!" Instantly Furion, Daite, Halis and Jediah levelled their heavy weapons and unleashed streams of fusion fire at point blank range.

The Super Heavy tank's rear armour hissed and smoked for a single second then it gave way, thick plates evaporating and liquefying before their eyes. They cheered as layer after layer of armour peeled back and the beams tore onwards, cutting deeply into the hull and wrecking terrible damage.

Any other vehicle would have been destroyed but the Baneblade was a product of an earlier epoch, designed in a time when mankind understood the blasphemous mysterious of science and innovation. Forged by the finest artisans on Mars itself and blessed by the Omnissiah the Super Heavy tank endured the inferno and emerged battered but unbowed.

Pyrus squad stood aghast unable to comprehend what had just happened and Daite spat, "Feth's sake, how much damage can that monster take?"

The tank didn't even bother to turn round to face them as its turret turned contemptuously about to target an embattled tactical squad. The colossal canon unleashed a blast that obliterated the squad, sending body parts and shards of ceramite flying high to rain down in a hideous shower.

Pyrus squad couldn't believe what they were seeing until Captain Phalros' voice came over the vox shouting, "Get clear and find cover, Dreadnought reinforcements are being brought up, they will take that monstrosity down."

Toran cried, "There's not enough time, it will kill us all first." He scanned the Baneblade desperately for any weaknesses but then he spied something.

High above him the tank's commander was standing up in his hatch watching the battle unfold. Before Toran even knew what he was doing he was in motion, leaping up onto the tank's rear engine block.

As Pyrus squad watched on the Sergeant clambered up the rear of the turret, climbing over comms arrays and tool boxes. The commander must have sense something for he turned about and saw the Space Marine closing on him from behind. The man was no fool and immediately dropped down, pulling the hatch closed over his head.

Toran dived head first and just managed to get his hand under the lintel before it shut, he knelt and pulled upwards to tear the hatch open and then peered down. He was welcomed with a laspistol shot to the face that burned a crater into his helm; one inch lower and it would have gone through his eye lens.

Toran reached down and grabbed the commander by the throat and in one move heaved the man out, throwing him over the prow of the tank where he disappeared beneath the Baneblade's grinding treads. Toran sheathed his sword and pulled a frag grenade from his belt then dropped it down the darkness of the hatch; he waited a second for the flat crump of the grenade and then dropped into the hole.

The hatch was meant for mortal men and it was extremely awkward to fit his pauldrons through the gap but he squeezed into the turret and found the remains of the gunners within. They had been riddled with shrapnel and blood covered every surface but so large was the Baneblade that the crew elsewhere were still alive.

Toran had to smash apart several chairs and protuberances to fit through but he managed to squeeze his bulk down to the bottom of the turret and dropped into a short corridor running the length of the tank. He faced a choice to go to the front or the back and chose to press forwards, leaning his wide shoulders sideways and down to fit.

He clambered through the tank and found the driver and hull gunners still working the prow weapons and demolisher canon. So overwhelming was the noise and vibration of the tank's operation that they had failed to realise they had been boarded. Toran crept up behind them and killed with swiftly with his hands leaving the space a blood-soaked mess. For good measure he put his fist through the driver's controls and finally the great war machine was brought to a halt.

That left only the engineseers and the sponson gunners to be dealt with so Toran methodically worked his way through the tank killing everyone he found. The mighty Super Heavy tank had been turned into a graveyard and satisfied with his work Toran kicked open a hatch and squirmed awkwardly into the open air.

Outside he found the battle had turned, without the Baneblade the defender's will had been broken. They ran from the battlefield screaming and pissing themselves as jubilant Space Marines cut them down in droves.

Toran was greeted by Pyrus squad who gathered round him cheering and clapping him on the shoulders. Bylan in particular seemed to be lost in hero worship as he declared in wonder, "+A Super Heavy tank, you just took down a Super Heavy tank single handed+"

Furion agreed and declared, "A remarkable feat, your name shall be engraved on the Rock of Heroes for this!"

Toran wasn't quite sure how to respond to the praise but thankfully he didn't have to for Captain Jossat ran past them towards the open breech of the Palace. He completely ignored the Sergeant's achievement as he yelled, "What are you standing around for?!"

"There's a Fortress to take yet."


	7. Chapter 7

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter7**

The courtyards outside the Governor's Palace were smoking ruins, festooned with bodies and wrecked barricades. The marble flagstones were cracked and sprayed with blood while toppled statues of Brendan the Mad were strewn everywhere. The Storm Heralds had fought their way through fierce resistance but ultimately carved a path out and raced past the high doors of the Palace itself.

Standing in that doorway was Sergeant Toran, looking out at the devastation beyond, it had been a fine fight but a hard one and the butcher's bill had been heavy. Though he was loathe admitting it had it not been for the timely arrival of the Dreadnoughts he was not confident that they could have broken through.

He stood there surveying the field and observing as parties of serfs went to and fro dragging piles of corpses aside to reveal blue armoured figures and finding the weapons of the dead. Far more grim were the pair of white armoured Apothecaries who inspected each and every find. Sometimes they would call for servitors to bring up stretchers but far more often they would shake their heads grimly and solemnly extract the sacred gene-seed.

Toran turned away sadly and walked back into the grand entrance of the Palace, passing under a gargoyle encrusted archway into a soaring atrium beyond. Once it had been a place of light and beauty with stained glass windows, elaborate frescos and ludicrously large chandeliers but now it was a smoke filled cave riddled with bolter holes.

Toran walked over the tiled floor stepping over the piles of dead rebels and grimaced as he saw lines of prisoners being led out form the adjoining corridors and stairwells. His brothers from Seventh Company were roughly dragging mortals out of their hiding places and separating them into two groups.

Those who were deemed combatants, those who had raised their hands against the Storm Heralds were being given swift executions with combat blades. It was more honour than they deserved but that was not what was disturbing the Sergeant, it was the actions of the Chaplains.

Those prisoners who were deemed non-combatants were being shoved into a kneeling circle of people, clerks, scullery maids and butlers all huddled together and cowering fearfully. Standing over them was a skull helmed Chaplain, his visage terrifying with his bones ornaments over black armour. He was reading aloud from a thick Holy text, preaching of the divinity of the God-Emperor and the peril their heresy had brought upon their souls.

Circling round the group were a pair of brothers from Mylos' squad, they watched the prisoners judging their responses to the teachings. Occasionally they would swoop in a snatch up a man or woman they deemed insufficiently pious and drag them away, the rest would look on in horror but were too terrified to protest.

The offenders were dragged away to excruciation racks that had been set up on the far side of the atrium and thrown into their cruel embrace. The wails and screams of the damned carried through the space and encouraged the rest to show more piety, or at least pretend too.

Toran felt disgust at the dishonour his Chapter brought upon itself with these practices, he was sworn to put an end to it all but such an endeavour required subtly and discretion lest it spark a civil war. He stamped past briskly and tried to shut out the screaming as he concentrated on his goal at the far end of the atrium.

As he walked up to the grand staircase he could see that the wide path was buried under a mound of rubble and stonework. Whoever had planned the defence had been somewhat competent and had blown the roof the second the outer gates fell.

With their heavy equipment effectively blocked Fourth Company had been forced to take the narrowest of stairways and fight their way up the Palace room by room. They were still up there, hunting for the rebel governor and killing every heretic they found.

Standing before the cave in were three massive forms, boxy and broad in a way no living thing could be for they were the Storm Herald's Dreadnoughts. Toran had been a Space Marine for almost a century yet in that time had had scant opportunity to fight alongside such venerable brothers and never so close in the thick of the melee.

He had been astonished by their power and by the devastation they unleashed but most all by their relentless determination, focus and consummate skill. Wherever the battle had teetered they had been there, smiting the foe and inspiring the brothers through feats of valour. No wonder they were held in such reverence by the rank and file.

Toran gave the Dreadnoughts a wide berth and walked over to where Pyrus squad was standing rear guard by the stairwells. It was an important duty but Halis had loudly voiced his opinion that it was just to keep Ninth Company from stealing any of the glory.

Toran approached them and overhead Furion talking to Bylan, "Have you ever seen a dreadnought before?"

Bylan answered in his mechanical wheeze, "+Never before have i seen something so impressive+"

"Impressive?!" said Persion, Child you are looking at living history, all those legends you dreamed of as an aspirant, those brothers lived them."

Furion pointed to one boxy form saying, "See that Castaferrum, that is Bellerophon the victor of the Kauros Graveyard and that Hellfire over there, that is Temeraire who held the line at the Tannhauser Gate."

"+And that one?+" asked Bylan pointing a Dreadnought which was oddly smooth limbed and elegantly machined where its kin were squat and brutal. For it was that rarest of breeds, a Contemptor Dreadnought.

"That?" Furion replied, "That is the oldest Storm Herald you will ever lay eyes upon, so old he saw the charter of our chapter being issued at our very foundation. That is Honourable Brother Ajax."

Bylan looked amazed and said, "+But that would make him five thousand years old+"

"Indeed he is" said Toran as he joined the group, "And you should be in awe, for he has seen and done more than we could ever imagine. It is a singular honour to be standing alongside him, the last time he was awake was during the 11th Black Crusade, remember this moment for it will not come again"

"+Aye Sergeant+" said Bylan.

As the words left his mouth something changed, from where he was standing Ajax must have heard them talking for his engines growled to life and he became animated. With a heavy ponderous step the Contemptor took a stamping pace forwards then another and another as it lumbered over to them.

Quickly it closed with Pyrus squad and then stopped looming over them and for the first time they realised what it was like to be totally outclassed. Toran refused to be intimidated but he could not help wonder at the power and lethality of the Dreadnought, the promise of inevitable death that hung around its weapons.

For moment he wondered should Ajax mean him harm then would he be able to do the slightest thing about it... then he wondered if that was how mortals felt when they faced him. Ajax stood there casting them all into shadow and then from a mechanical vox speaker boomed, "YOU ARE A SERGEANT?"

Toran swallowed and answered "Yes Honourable brother"

"I WILL SPEAK WITH YOU" rumbled Ajax then he turned on his waist gimbal to address the rest of the squad saying, "BE SOMEWHERE ELSE."

Pyrus squad did not run from the venerable Contemptor but there was a certain briskness to their pace as they moved further down the atrium and took up a post just within earshot.

Ajax faced Toran and his chassis' visual lenses focussed upon him before he said, "YOU WILL TELL ME WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS DEBACLE."

Toran replied, "I am not sure I follow you..."

Ajax boomed, "THIS ASSAULT WAS POORLY CONCEIVED AND SLOPPILY EXECUTED, EXCLUDING THE IMPERIAL GUARD WAS A GREVIOUS ERROR."

Toran had thought much the same thing earlier but felt the need to defend his brother's actions and said, "Captain Jossat believed an immediate assault could end this war in one day and spare the lives of many of the Emperor's soldiers in unnecessary battles."

Ajax was incapable of any kind of facial expression or body language but Toran could have sworn the Dreadnought was looking scornful as he said, "I SHALL HAVE WORDS WITH THIS JOSSAT, CLEARLY STANDARDS HAVE SLIPPED WHILE I WAS ASLEEP."

Then he paused and turned slightly on his waist, Toran realised that the ancient warrior had noticed the events taking place further down the atrium and was focussing all his eye lenses upon the crowds of prisoners. In a slow rumble he uttered, "WHAT DO THEY THINK THEY ARE DOING?"

Now Toran did feel intimidated and he swallowed to gain a second to think before answering, "The Chaplain is educating them in the folly of rebellion and explaining how to give due reverence to the Emperor."

"DUE REVERENCE?" said Ajax grinding each word out like grit caught in his vox speaker, "MY CHAPTER IS ENGAGED IN WORSHIP?!"

The mighty Contemptor took a heavy step forward that made the chandeliers rattle and sway as he growled, "THIS SHALL NOT STAND!" As the dreadnought took another lumbering step forwards his Kheres pattern assault canon began to spin and Toran had to hurry to interpose himself between the war machine and his kin.

Toran called, "Honourable brother please desist!"

Ajax snarled, "THEY SPIT UPON EVERYTHING THE EMPEROR STOOD FOR!"

The distant Chaplain was looking over now and Toran hurriedly said, "The matter is being dealt with but not like this, not with the blood of brothers on our hands... Would you be known as a kinslayer?"

That made the Dreadnought pause and he looked down saying, "YOU THINK THIS CAN BE STOPPED WITHOUT BLOODSHED?"

Toran gulped and answered "They are misguided but their loyalty is unquestioned, we will put a stop to this without spilling blood, the Chapter Master himself is working to erase the stain on our honour."

The Dreadnought stood impassively looking at the Sergeant and Toran had no way of knowing what he was thinking, then Ajax said, "WHAT WAS YOUR NAME?"

The Sergeant looked up at his ancient kin and said, "Toran."

Ajax boomed, "WELL TORAN, TELL WHOEVER IS CHAPTER MASTER NOW THAT IF HE DOES NOT STOP THIS ABOMINATION I SHALL DO IT FOR HIM." Then he turned and stomped away leaving Toran to gasp in relief at the closeness of the disaster he had just averted.

He was swiftly joined by Pyrus squad who had heard everything, they gathered and Daite said, "I wasn't sure you would manage to talk him down."

"I wasn't sure either" confessed Toran.

"Well at least one crisis has been resolved" said Persion.

Toran looked at him askance and Persion said, "While you were talking there has been a signal from the top of the Palace. Fourth Company has swept the mansion three times and found nothing, Governor Brendan is not here: he was never here."

"This entire assault has all been for nothing."


	8. Chapter 8

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter8**

The grey skies pressed down upon the spaceport making the ferrocrete seem dank and wet in the gloom, the unnatural layer of ash and soot in the atmosphere blocked much of the sunlight and cast the whole world into twilight. Soldiers wrapped themselves in great coats and gathered round flaming barrels as they looked on enviously at workers labouring over hot machinery in the loading docks.

Sergeant Toran however saw none of that, for he was standing to attention outside Captain Phalros' billet in the Astartes forward base. He had been waiting patiently outside the prefabricated chamber, he knew Captain Jossat was within but was trying not to listen in to his superior's heated argument.

After an indeterminate amount of time the door slammed open and Captain Jossat stormed out, he did not even look at Toran but stomped off scowling fiercely at everything. Toran watched him go but was snapped back to attention as Phalros' equerry waved him in.

The Sergeant marched in and saluted his Captain who was sitting behind his Nalwood desk, leaning back in his robes of office as his artificer plate was meticulously polished on its stand by his equerry. The Captain's patrician features and hooked nose usually gave him a disapproving air but today he was practically glowering.

Toran wondered what he and Jossat had been talking about to disturb him so but was swiftly disabused of that notion as Phalros said, "So Sergeant are you proud of yourself?"

"Sir?" said Toran still standing to attention in his armour and unsure of what he had done to upset the Captain. Phalros continued, "Your stunt with the Baneblade is the talk of the camp, everybody is talking about it. Yet they all seem to forget that in doing so you contravened my direct order to fall back."

Now Toran understood his Captain's ire and felt his stomach sink, for a Space Marine orders were sacrosanct, a superior was to obeyed as if their words had come from the Emperor himself. He could not bring even think of what he had done as disobedience but his actions had certain been an extremely liberal interpretation of his orders. He stood ramrod straight and said, "Sir I offer no excuses for my actions, I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

Phalros eyeballed him, looking for any hint of deceit or bravado, then his face eased somewhat and he said, "Sit down; you are fortunate that happened to be the most misguided order I have ever given. Without your actions we would have suffered a crushing defeat... this is becoming a habit for you."

Toran took a seat that creaked alarmingly under his armoured weight as Phalros continued, "You remain a very curious Space Marine, despite everything the Chaplains could do and despite all the psycho-indoctrination, you somehow kept a working brain in your head. This is increasingly becoming a concern, many in the highest levels are expressing the opinion that the duties of a line Sergeant do not suit you and not all of them mean that as a compliment. Captain Jossat in particular is most displeased by your actions and by the way your name keeps coming up before his does in discussions of the Chapter's wider affairs."

Toran wasn't sure how to respond to the critique so tactfully asked, "Is that why he was speaking to you?"

Phalros snorted and said, "No, he was trying to get me on his side when he has to present this farce to the Council of Masters. I however was reminding him of my earlier objections; he will face their ire alone."

Toran was surprised this and said, "Captain enemy resistance was fierce, are the Masters really so petty as to seek to apportion blame?"

Phalros replied, "The situation is far worse than you know, if we had waited for proper reconnaissance then this debacle could have been entirely avoided but instead sixty five brothers were incapacitated and the apothecaries expect that barely a third of those will live to fight again."

Toran gasped in disbelief, an Astartes was gene built and clad in ancient armour, putting one down was difficult but then their multitude of extra organs meant they could recover from almost any injury that did not kill them outright. To have that many Space Marines actually die in one battle was a black mark on the entire Chapter, one that would be remembered and mourned for decades.

He could not help but blurt out, "That is a third of the taskforce's fighting strength!"

Phalros nodded and said, "Indeed and every death is laid upon Jossat's bungling, his status among the Masters has been ruined."

Toran found the statement unbelievably callous and said, "Sir how can we speak of noble brother's deaths as being tools for political advantage?"

"Sometimes you can be painfully naive" said Phalros glaring at him, "If you would move in the corridors of power you must learn that one can have more than one motivation at a time. Noble brothers died for no good reason and the best we can do for them is make sure it never happens again. Jossat's humiliation is in and of itself irrelevant to us but undermining his reckless position is essential; it is major step along the path to putting this Chapter back on the straight and narrow."

There was a sharp rap on the door and Phalros said, "Say nothing of this to anyone, we must now focus on more pressing concerns," before sending his equerry to open the door. Through the hatch came Sergeant Nimodes in his scout armour, under one arm he was carrying a large case which he set down as the Captain waved at him to be seated.

Phalros said, "Greetings Sergeant Nimodes, I understand you have come to brief us on matters of strategic intelligence."

Nimodes nodded and began, "Yes I have for the war has widened, with the escape of Governor Brendan we have been forced to spread our forces across the planet in an effort to flush him out. Orbital scans have become unreliable with so much debris in the atmosphere and we have been forced to ask the Imperial Guard for extra personnel to cover as much ground as possible."

Toran and Phalros shared a significant look at those words understanding what it meant for their secret campaign, as Nimodes stated, "Meanwhile we have been sweeping the old Palace for clues as to where Brendan may have fled but in doing so we found something most unexpected."

Nimodes reached into the case at his feet and drew out an object saying, "This was found in the Governor's private trophy collection."

Toran picked it up and turned it over in his hands seeing that it was a Bolt pistol but not a normal one. Most Imperial bolt pistols were scaled down versions with smaller calibres and recoil compensators built in, this however was a full sized model such as an Astartes might use.

The size and power of such a weapon made it ludicrous for any mortal to wield and it could not possibly serve any function other than as a trophy. Toran thought that it was functionally identical to the one he used as he turned it over then he saw something that made him start: the spiral inside a starburst that was the Chapter's icon. "This belongs to the Chapter!" he blurted out.

Nimodes nodded and said, "Indeed and it is not alone" as he pulled out a gauntlet, a greave and a helm all in Storm Herald's colours. Phalros reached out and picked up each item one at a time, he turned them over and peered at the serial numbers engraved on each and then said, "These are not just from our Chapter, they are all from the same squad but I do not recognise which one."

Nimodes nodded and said, "I would be surprised if you did, we had to delve deeply into the Thunderlord's library stacks to find a match. These are from Hevaste squad whose ship disappeared in a Warp Storm thirteen hundred years ago, they were mourned with all honour and nothing has been heard of them since... until now. "

Phalros said, "You think the ship emerged in this stellar system?"

Nimodes shrugged and said, "The ship was lost in Segmentum Solar but the Warp is fickle, anything is possible where that nightmarish realm is concerned. Brendan's thugs could have found it anytime in the last millennium."

Toran felt incensed by the notion and spat, "A heretic has possession of heirlooms of the Chapter?"

"It is far worse than that" said Nimodes grimacing, "Hevaste squad was charged with a critical mission at the time of their disappearance, they were forming an honour guard for the gene-seed of brothers killed fighting in the siege of Koralag."

Toran practically leapt out of his chair as the sergeant cried, "The heretic has taken sacred gene-seed, he steals the very future of our Chapter!"

Phalros was more composed but growled, "He shall pay for this insult, tell me where I can find him and I shall make him suffer."

Nimodes appeared unflappable but his tone had a sharp edge to it as he said, "Brendan has a whole planet to hide in, logically there are a billion places he could be."

Toran gripped his chair so hard the wood splintered as he leaned in to say, "Use your instincts, what does your gut tell you?"

Nimodes frowned and replied, "There is an old noble's hunting lodge in the mountains, more of a mansion really. It is not built for defence and has no strategic or tactical value which is why we ignored it until now; my guess is he is there."

Phalros frowned and said, "I am not in overall command and Captain Jossat will not redeploy an entire company on guess work."

Toran answered, "Send one squad then, one team to scout the location and determine if Brendan is in fact there."

Phalros stared at him for a long moment as if weighing the decision but inevitably said, "Sergeant Nimodes, Pyrus squad will accompany you to find this lodge and retrieve our legacy."

Toran stood up and saluted saying, "Yes sir, we will reclaim our Chapter's future, this I swear."


	9. Chapter 9

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter9 **

High in the mountains black snow was falling, the usual crisp whiteness stained by the soot and ash in the atmosphere. The snowline was already advancing down the valleys far further than it ever had before, encroaching on the plain below.

Those plains were cast into a twilight world of a nuclear winter, crops and forests were already wilting from the cold and gloom, soon this world would be plunged into famine and millions would die. Of course that would make no difference to the clerks of the Administratum, this world owed two years of unpaid tithes and the grey faced bureaucrats would not left a little thing like global catastrophe stop them from collecting their dues.

None of that mattered though to the group of armoured figures laying prone on a ridgeline high above the snowline. Eight of them were clad in thick battleplate and carrying weapons a grown man could not lift, six more were clad in lighter scout armours that were draped in camo cloaks.

Every man carried a canopic jar at his belt just in case they should find the missing gene-seed. They were laid out on the crest of the ridgeline so as not to be silhouetted against the grey sky as they observed a manse nestled in a valley far below.

They had been laying unmoving for three hours, charting the building's lay out, noting guard patrols and counting guns. It was common misconception that Astartes lived their lives charging at the foe, that they fought their battles by just battering the door down and just killing whatever they found. Nothing could be further from the truth; every campaign was built on a bedrock of meticulous intelligence gathering and detailed planning.

The Primarch Roboute Guilliman had written in the Codex Astartes that 'Information is Victory' and no one in the galaxy would ever suspect that the lauded victories of the Space Marines were built on the meticulous reconnaissance of the advance scout parties. A party of Imperial Stormtroopers would have taken ten times as long to accomplish the same task but these were Transhumans after all.

Sergeant Toran was closely watching the lodge, tracking every movement and memorising every feature, to his left was Daite and to his right was Sergeant Nimodes. Further down the ridge line were the rest of the squad, Furion, Jediah and Persion who were now equipped with Heavy Bolters and Halis who had a missile launcher.

Bylan was far too junior to be entrusted with the solemn duty of bearing a heavy weapon and Novak was polishing his rapier again, seemingly disinterested, but the Sergeant knew he was aware of everything occurring.

Nimodes was peering through a magnifying viewscope at the manse, assessing every feature and running mental scenarios of attack. Toran of course needed no such tools, his augmetic eye was far superior in magnification and let him see into spectrums mortal men never could, that didn't stop Nimodes from lecturing him though.

Sergeant Nimodes was talking again saying, "Observe the windows, too low and too wide for effective defence they are an obvious entry points. Yet they are too obvious and we should expect trip wires and grenades laced around the windowsills. Similarly the garage entrance seems unguarded; expect mines to be laid around it. Multi-lasers have been placed at corner points of the rooftops but their arc is too long, once in close they will be unable to targets anyone at the foot of the walls."

Toran tried not to sigh, the veteran Sergeant was a grizzled and experienced warrior who had led aspirants to war for longer than Toran had been alive. His wisdom was sound but the downside of that was that he tended to treat everyone as an unblooded novice on their first deployment. To distract him Toran said, "This entire facility is poorly designed, I do not understand why they would build a base in such a manner."

Nimodes replied, "Because this is not a base, this a lodge, meant as a place for nobility to holiday."

Toran stared at him with blank incomprehension, as Nimodes explained, "The rich often pretend that their lives are too hard and that they deserve time away to recover."

Toran barely followed that reasoning, as a Space Marine his entire life was dedicated to war; every moment not spent fighting was busy with training and study or spent upon ritual and ceremony. Eventually he settled on saying, "I cannot imagine such laxity of spirit"

From further down the ridge Halis said "Don't be fooled, this place is just one more piece in the noble's games for power. You can guarantee they don't come here for fun but to plot and scheme for advantage."

Daite spat, "That sounds weak, no wonder this world fell into heresy."

"It works to our advantage though" said Nimodes, "Observe; this lodge has only two access routes, a single roadway winding up the foothills for goods or servants and that landing pad covered in noble's personal fliters."

"There is something else" interrupted Daite, "There is a void in the heart of the lodge, a place that should not be, a darkness that cannot be observed."

Toran gave him a worried look and said, "Brother… are you having one of your visions?"

Daite frowned at him and held up his auspex in a clenched fist as he said, "I meant a sensor blind spot, something in there is actively blocking scans, some form of vault taking up a large section of the building."

"That definitely shouldn't be there" said Nimodes.

"Certainly not" said Toran, "Someone has converted this place for another purpose."

"Should we call in the Battle Company now?" asked Daite.

"No" said Nimodes, "This is suspicious but not definite proof, we need to take a closer look to be certain this is what we seek."

Toran agreed with the other Sergeant and said, "The lodge has but two external generators to provide power, take them out and they lose all communications and power for the multi lasers."

Nimodes remarked, "That would instantly alert all the guards and they would scramble to alert."

Toran replied, "Exactly what we want, Nimodes have your novices take out the generators and that will lure the guards out into the open. Furion, Jediah, Persion and Halis take the heavy weapons and establish a firebase overlooking the roadway, kill any guard who approaches you. Bylan and Daite storm the landing pad, spike the engines of the fliters and let none escape. While you all distract the guards Novak and I will infiltrate the lodge from the slopes and penetrate the vault, we will find whatever is hidden there and kill anyone in our way."

"A fine plan" said Nimodes "With one slight change, I will accompany you."

Toran was about to protest but when he saw Nimodes' face he knew it was pointless, they were both Sergeants and the scout master had seniority, so he simply nodded then fixed his helm on before briskly setting off.

With that the various parties set off towards their objectives, the initiates were taking circuitous routes to avoid been seen but the scouts relied on their camo cloaks to close directly on the lodge. Toran's party was walking carefully around the lodge, keeping to the high ridges so to approach it from the steep slopes behind. As they walked Novak turned to Nimodes and casually said, "So Sergeant what is your assessment of this campaign so far?"

Nimodes adjusted his shotgun and replied, "This has been an unmitigated disaster, Jossat always was a glory hound but this is unacceptable."

Toran was surprised by the statement and said, "You have served with Captain Jossat before?"

Nimodes snorted and said, "I trained him when he was but a scout, he was a great warrior and turned out to be an even better assault Sergeant but as Captain of a Battle Company he has become reckless and sloppy. I blame those damned preachers and Emperor worshippers, spending all their time spreading their misguided creed when they should be focussing on the proper execution of battle."

Toran was shocked to hear such blatant criticism thus he and Novak couldn't help glance at each other, Nimodes saw it and let out a short bark of a laugh saying, "Did you think that you and Phalros were the only ones trying to put a stop to all this nonsense, there are more of us than you know. You may have the Chaplains fooled but you are not as subtle as you think, that encounter with Honourable Ajax almost gave you away, luckily I was able to run interference before rumours spread."

Toran wasn't quite certain that Nimodes wasn't trying to trick him into revealing more than he should so dissembled, "I am not sure I follow what you mean."

Nimodes grinned and said, "I see you don't trust me on this matter, which is perhaps the wisest thing I have seen you do since you set foot on this planet. I am not offended; when you are ready to trust me I will be waiting, for now let us concentrate on entering the lodge undetected."

With those words the group fell silent, as they tracked around the lodge, it was painstaking work, Nimodes' lighter armour let him skip over the dirty snow but the pair of power armoured brothers had to choose every step with care. After nearly an hour though they got behind the lodge and spied a servant's entrance which was neatly tucked away in the rear of the building.

They settled down and waited for the signal to move out; silently they lay there watching the faint shadows lengthen as evening crept over the mountains. It was a tense time, watching the manse for any signs that the scouts had been detected, that their cover had been blown. They fell back on their training, using the technique of tensing their transhuman muscles one by one to keep their limbs fresh and sharpen their mental awareness.

Just before dusk fell everything changed, without warning a flash erupted and the sharp noise of twin explosions rang out as the generators erupted in balls of fire. The lodge's lights flickered and died then there were the loud noises of many men shouting in panic and crashing about but Toran did not move yet.

They stayed still as crowds of men raced out of the building running about in confusion and then there was the distant roar of a frag missile from the other side of the lodge and the loud chugging of heavy bolters. As the guards raced to meet the attack to the front Toran rose from the ground shaking off black snow from his armour.

"That's the signal" yelled Toran as he ran towards the back of the building, "Follow me, we are going in."


	10. Chapter 10

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter 10**

The interior of the lodge was eerily quiet and deserted, luxurious Nalwood panels lined the walls interspersed with portraits of notable worthies from this world's history. The only light was that which trickled through the high arching windows of the gallery, between them were only pits of utter darkness like thick drapes laid across the space cutting it into distinct segments.

Dashing between those pits were three Space Marines, Toran Novak and Nimodes, they moved swiftly covering each other and alert for threats. As they ran Toran could see glimpses of the outside world through the windows, the valley falling away before them and the mountains rising up like frozen waves on the sea. The view must have been magnificent once but now those waves were stained black with soot and the valley was filled with the flashes of heavy weapons.

Toran raced past completely uninterested in the view but he could not help but notice that the windows had not been rigged with trip mines after all. He resisted the unworthy impulse to point this out to Nimodes and focussed instead on the interior of the lodge, seeking enemies but there were none.

The lodge seemed deserted and all the guards appeared to have rushed outside to meet the obvious attack. Still they did not lower their guard for they had all been drilled over and over that to rely on your foe's incompetence was the surest route to death.

Silently the trio penetrated deeper and deeper into the building, meeting no one till at last they found something peculiar. It was a solid metal door in an otherwise blank and featureless corridor, at last they broke their silence and Nimodes whispered, "This is a starship airlock, it has no business being here."

Toran replied, "There is no other way through, we must risk it."

Nimodes nodded and keyed the mechanism, the thick door ground aside and the trio stepped inside. They stood there gripped with anticipation, the knowledge that one could not design a better ambush site.

When the interior door ground back there was no party of guards waiting to greet them and no blaze of heavy weapons. The corridor beyond was a complete contrast to the other side , sterile and so well-lit that it was obvious that this place had its own internal generators.

They proceeded cautiously up the long corridor with weapons held tightly in their grips, the corridor had many rooms adjoining it in endless rows. They appeared to be medicae suites and laboratories of some description but were as deserted as the rest of the facility.

Eventually the corridor ended in a large open door leading into an echoing space, it was filled with utter darkness yet their enhanced hearing could detect the distinct noise of one person breathing. With their reflexes on a razor's edge they entered and found the space to be a long hall, bereft of features save that one entire wall was taken up with a large vault door.

Before they could take another step there was a burst of light and a single ray of illumination fell upon a seated figure against the far wall. Perched atop a row of enamelled stairs was an elaborate gold caricature of the true Golden Throne and sitting in it was the unmistakable image of Governor Brendan.

Mortals would have hesitated, mortals would have been frozen by shock and disbelief but not the Space Marines, they were already firing.

With lightning speed they targeted and let fly creating a spray of bolt shells and shotgun pellets, each and every projectile soared through the air on a perfect trajectory for Brendan's heart but before they could impact they struck a shimmering force field. The golden ripple effect cascaded around his form like a shimmering bubble as Brendan said merrily, "Welcome, welcome I have been expecting you. The old God's angels come to pay homage to the new God."

Toran kept his bolt pistol aimed but lowered it a fraction to assess his target and realised the man failed to live up to the countless portraits and statues he had erected. His flesh was soft and flabby from too much comfortable living with a weak chin and thinning hair, he was draped in robes in an effort to look regal but the overall effect was that he was drowning in his vestments.

Yet in his eyes there was a fierce fire and gaze that was not focused entirely upon this world, Toran realised the epithet 'Mad' was far more appropriate than anyone could have guessed.

Toran lowered his bolt pistol a hairsbreadth and said, "You are no god."

"What is a God?" said Brendan with a vicious grin, "If one has millions of followers bowing down to them, worshipping them and following their every word. If one has the power of life and death over another and can kill or raise them up with but a wave of his hand, how can he not be a god?"

Toran could see the epic vanity in Brendan's eyes the overwhelming self-belief and conviction consuming him, no wonder he had not turned to the Ruinous Powers, he truly believed his own propaganda. Toran shifted his weight slightly and Novak and Nimodes spread out a little as he said, "The Emperor has more power than you could ever imagine, you are but a thief and leach."

Brendan grinned and a little drool ran out from his mouth as he giggled, "The Emperor, that rotting old corpse, he cannot even lift a finger whereas I am incarnate and vital. Unlike him I am honest, he was nothing but a liar, he saw the existence of Gods and tried to deny it."

Now it was Nimodes who spat, "The Emperor stood for a rational and moral human race, one whose belief was placed not in idols and false gods but in each other. He taught us that humanity was not meant to live on its knees to some cruel and uncaring deity but was meant to rise up and face the tyranny of false gods with courage and honour."

Brendan snorted, "Do not feed me those lies, I have quested behind the veil of the reality, I asked to see the faces of gods, I know they are real and if they are real then I shall become one of them!"

Nimodes barked, "Then you asked the wrong question, you should not have asked if gods exist you should have asked if they were worthy of devotion. Faith should be the call to humility, to reflection and self-improvement; it should be the force that unites all men. When religion is used as club to crush men down, as a tool to set one man above the rest then it becomes a sham, a perversion of all true faith stands for. A falsehood just like you."

Brendan jerked forwards in his throne and yelled at Nimodes, "You dare question my majesty?!"

While they had been talking the trio had been inching further apart and as Brendan leaned towards the scout sergeant Toran acted. He drew a combat knife and in one smooth motion threw it underarm towards the Mad Governor on a perfect trajectory.

The Space Marines had seen all types of energy fields in their lives and many of them shared the same fatal flaw of reacting only to velocity, they would stop bullets and las-blasts but allow slower object to pass through. Unfortunately this was not one of those types and as the knife struck the golden bubble the blade suddenly stopped to be left hanging in mid-air like a nail in a wall.

Brendan pounded his fists on his throne as he roared with laughter and cried, "You see I am beyond your feeble efforts, repent your hubris and bow down to me, perhaps I will be a merciful god!"

Toran snarled, "Never: we will never bow to you, it is you who will return what you stole from us!"

Brendan's smile widened and he said, "Ahhh, how little you see, did you not realise that I no longer have it."

At those words a loud clunk resonated through the hall and with ponderous weight the vault door swung open to reveal the space beyond, from it marched a dozen men who outline made Toran gasp. They were each as tall and as broad as he was, towering and bulky in way no mortal ever could be.

They were Transhumans: twelve transhumans but not of the Emperor's design.

Each of them was twisted and deformed, some had gigantically over muscled limbs or hands that were masses of tentacles, some had protruding jaws or bulging red eyes filled with blood shot veins. One had large bony spikes emerging from his forearms like protruding daggers while another walked on multiple crab like legs in a jerky stuttering limp.

They were the nightmare of every aspirant made real, the secret fear every novice harboured that their implants would go wrong or their flesh would betray them. This was the unspoken fate of all those aspirants whose ascension was flawed or lacked the care and attention of skilled Apothecaries to correct their wandering genomes.

Their armour was an equally bastardised mix of parts, ceramite plates stuck on awkwardly to metal frames that mocked the grace of proper fibre motive bundles. Their colours were scratched and marked but under that they were recognisable as being of the Storm Heralds, the lost armour of Hevaste squad.

Toran looked on aghast at the blasphemy writ large before his eyes as Brendan giggled and said, "Look upon my works and know I am a god: I bring forth life!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter 11**

In the dark hall the two sides faced off, the noble trio facing their malformed and aberrant reflections. With a uniform snap the twisted mutants levelled their stolen bolters and took aim but the Storm Heralds were already in motion.

Even as the first bolts let fly Toran and Novak were charging, presenting their thick pauldrons to the fore using them as ablative shields against the incoming salvo. Nimodes in his lighter scout armour was forced to weave behind them, using them as mobile cover.

Toran felt a bolt round slam into his pauldron and the impact jarred him but he pushed through the pain and dived forwards as he drew his Master Crafted power sword. The malforms dropped their bolters as he closed and drew combat blades as they leapt to meet their blood kin head on.

The hall filled with violence as the two sides met, blows being traded faster than the eye could follow. Toran slashed at the first aberrant to approach him but it fell back and he was forced to pull his blow to parry a stab from another one of the mutants as they surrounded him with their superior numbers.

From the corner of his eye he saw Novak leap into the fray, his rapier a whirlwind of steel as he lunged and riposted with elegant flourishes. He was simultaneously duelling three of the malforms holding off their blows and counter attacking with a skill no mortal could ever achieve. Yet despite his expertise more and more of the aberrants were piling in and he was increasingly forced onto the defensive.

Meanwhile Nimodes was relying on his superior agility to stay alive; his lighter armour unable to take the kind of blows his brothers were enduring. He ducked and weaved constantly as blows sought him out, lashing out in return but he could not land a telling strike against their mismatched and patchwork armour.

Outnumbered four to one Novak and Nimodes were overmatched and instinctively slammed back to back for protection. With peerless coordination they fought off the attackers but they were fighting entirely defensively, it was only a matter of time before one of them made a fatal mistake.

Meanwhile Toran was facing off against four more mutants, one with tentacles for hands and another with splayed crab like legs. The next had one grotesquely over muscled arm in which it swung a massive axe while the last seemed normal save for bulging red eyes which were swollen out of their sockets.

The mutated warriors were good, very good; whoever had trained them had instilled a deadly skill and speed that matched Toran's own. They had the advantage of numbers and knew exactly how to use it to keep Toran constantly off balance as they attacked from unexpected angles. He sought to strike back but every time he extended to land a killing blow another of them would sweep in and force him to pull back lest he be cut down.

He dodged a hacking blow from the axe wielder and kicked out to catch the crab legged malform from an unexpected direction, the impact sent it staggering back with its legs skittering under it. It crashed into a wall panel and tore it off to reveal a control panel before it righted itself and jumped back into the fray.

Toran was beset on all sides now, taking countless blows that ripped into his armour as they sought to penetrate his vulnerable joints. He rode the wave of pain from the gouges and lucky strikes as he slashed back but he could just not land a death stroke.

Toran feinted a blow at the malform with bulging eyes but then diverted and his blade scored a vicious cut across the exposed wrist of the tentacle handed aberrant. Blood spilled and tendons tore as Toran braced for the counter attack but almost lost his life when it failed to emerge, instead the crab legged mutant cut in from the right and stabbed at his neck. Toran twisted away at the last second and prevented a killing blow but as he did so he saw the wounded aberrant falling back, holding its wrist in a tender grip.

In that moment the truth hit Toran: whoever had trained the aberrations had been good, perhaps the very best of mortals but they had not been Space Marines. These horrors had not endured the most pitiless and savage training regime ever conceived, they had not suffered the agonising conditioning and trails of true aspirants. These deviants had not undertaken the sacred rites and tests of character that winnowed out all save those who thrived on conflict and war. For all the mutant's genetic resculpting, despite all the training, weapons and armour they had been given they were still mortal at heart, these foes were men not Astartes.

They still Knew Fear.

Toran threw himself into the fight lashing out in a frenzy of cuts and slashes but now he was not fighting to kill; now he was fighting to _hurt_. His blade nicked and scored at deviant flesh, spilling blood and ripping skin with every blow.

In such proximity the aberrations were able to press in close, landing as many shallow cuts as he was himself inflicting. Yet what they had failed to grasp was the diamond hard will of a true Astartes, the ability to master outrage, fervour and anguish then channel it all into fuel for their zeal.

The fight was vicious and brutal yet the more wounds inflicted on Toran and the more pain he suffered the harder he fought, growing deadlier and more focussed with every passing second. The aberrations on the other hand were growing weaker and distracted, their pain slowing them down and their fear making them flinch away from the flashing power sword.

Toran scythed at the deviant with red bulging eyes and it could not help but recoil, baulking in instinctive dread of the pain to come. Toran saw the opening and threw out his arm wide; the shining edge of the blade tore through the mismatched armour and ripped open the aberration's guts. A true Astartes would have accepted the agony and committed himself to one last strike in death but the mutant merely fell to the ground, futilely trying to stuff its entrails back inside.

The other malforms thought they saw an opportunity and pounced to cut Toran down but the Sergeant was ready, as they leapt forwards he used his momentum to swing about and leapt to meet them. His sword thrust out as he vaulted forwards and the tip of the sword plunged into the chest of the crab legged mutant tearing out its hearts.

The aberrants were flabbergasted by this sudden reversal, seeing two of their kin cut down in moments and the shock caused them to freeze for a single heartbeat. Toran's reaction speed was so fast a vid-picter could not have captured it as his sword speared out and lanced through the throat of the axe-wielding mutant. It skewered its neck and ripped out the other side leaving the deviant standing there like a hooked fish until the Sergeant pulled back his blade and the aberrant fell down stone dead.

The horror overwhelmed the last malform and it backed away in fear, waving its tentacled hands before it in a desperate plea for mercy. Toran paced after it relentlessly, the very image of a pitiless destroyer, he became death incarnate as he raised his sword high then scythed it down like an executioner's axe.

His attackers had fallen at last and Toran breathed in a single deep breath as he recovered but then turned to aid his beleaguered brothers. Novak and Nimodes were falling back before the remaining malforms but Toran ran to their aid launching a vicious attack from the rear.

Though still having the advantage of numbers the deviants were now flanked on two sides and could not effectively defend themselves. Caught between three experienced Space Marines the aberrants stood no chance and in less than a minute they were all cut down. Novak claimed the last kill, his flashing rapier skewering a mutant through the eyesocket to end their threat once and for all.

The battle was over and the three Storm Heralds had won but there were other matters to attend to before they could declare victory. From behind his shimmering forcefield Brendan was quivering in rage, the act of being denied whatever he wanted had never occurred to him before in his life. He turned purple as he screamed, "How dare you! Those were mine; I will kill you for this!"

Toran sheathed his sword as he looked at the pathetic man who thought himself a god, the force field was impenetrable yet there must be another way to deal with him. Then Toran had an idea and walked over to the control panel exposed in the fight, he reached within and began making adjustments.

"Fools!" cried Brendan from behind his shimmering force shield, "Do you think I did not take precautions, that I would not have a failsafe against my protection simply being shut off?!"

Toran was busy making an adjustment he had once seen a Techmarine perform to a void shield as he retorted, "Who said anything about shutting it off?"

As his hands moved the force shield grew more and more vibrant, darkening in tone as the field's power supply increased. Brendan looked panicked and tried to override with the controls in his own throne but he did not understand enough about his own protection to change anything. He staggered from his chair and tried to scream at the Astartes but his words were lost as the field darkened into a solid black pearl, cutting off all light and his air supply.

Novak looked at the new black wall before them and said "How much oxygen do you think he has in there?"

Nimodes rubbed his chin and said, "A man his size… less than an hour before he suffocates to death."

Novak was jubiliant at the fate of the heretic and smirked as he said, "So what do we do now?"

Toran looked at the corpses of the malformed tranhsumans and said, "We still have a mission to complete, we were sent to retrieve the lost relics and that is what we shall do."

Novak nodded and knelt to begin stripping the treasured armour components from the mutants however Nimodes paused and said, "But what of the gene-seed, we have failed to recover the Chapter's future."

"Not necessarily" said Toran drawing his combat blade.

Nimodes looked shocked and said, "You cannot be serious, they are mutated and twisted, the Progenoids will be worthless."

"Perhaps" said Toran thoughtfully, "Or maybe this was the result of Brendan's incompetent sciences, his thug's lack of understanding of the mysteries wrought by the Emperor. If we return the Progenoids to the Apothecaries they may be able to undo his tampering."

Then he knelt by the first malformed corpse and pushed the tip of his blade into the torso saying, "He that is dead… take from him the Chapter's Due."


	12. Chapter 12

**Carpe Posterum: Chapter 12**

On the cold and dim world of Angle's Landing peace had fallen but the violence was far from over, with the return of the Imperium the loyalists in the population had risen up against their cruel oppressors and unleashed their pent up rage. Mobs of self-appointed crusaders were racing through the streets hunting for the remainders of the thugs and tyrants and tearing them apart.

This was typical human behaviour on recently liberated worlds yet what was making it worse was the presence of the Space Marines. Normally after declaring victory most Astartes would have departed for fresh wars but the Storm Heralds had not, instead they were undertaking pilgrimages across the planet. They visited every remaining town, village and hamlet preaching of the divinity of the God-Emperor, for weeks they travelled in ones and twos telling the people that they had strayed into darkness and forfeited the light of the Emperor.

Great was the lamentation and the gnashing of teeth at their words but that did not appease them, for the Astartes proclaimed that only by casting out the most wicked and corrupt amongst them could they purify their sin. Terrified of the wrath of the Emperor's angels the populace turned on itself, neighbours denouncing each other for the slightest transgressions and imagined grudges.

Fanatical mobs swept the streets finding men who were not loud enough in their praise of the Emperor and clubbing them to death or dragging young women away to be stoned for wantonness. When they ran out of isolated victims the mobs began setting upon whole families, kicking down their doors and dragging everybody away to be burned at the stake. Always the Space Marines were standing nearby, judging and proclaiming doom upon any they found to be lacking in fervour.

Pyrus squad however had not been involved; they had been busy securing the site of the late governor's death and retrieving the Chapter's lost relics. It turned out Brendan had been quite the aficionado of Space Marine gear and they had recovered a trove of artefacts from a variety of Chapters, including the Templars Sanguine, the Smoke Jaguars and the Amber Vipers.

Upon their return they had been feted with glory from their brothers still guarding the base and hailed as heroes, quite an unaccustomed experience for members of a reserve company. They now stood on the perimeter of the forward base looking out through the razorwire upon the actions of their brothers.

As they watched they saw one marine supervising a mob of fanatics who were dragging some young man into a square, yet he was indistinguishable from his persecutors in every way. The mob threw him up against a wall then fell back as women and small children began flinging rocks at him, Pyrus squad watched his feeble efforts to avoid being hit, refusing to hide their faces even though they felt nothing but shame.

As the man finally went still and bonelessly limp they turned about and marched away leaving the mob behind as Furion muttered, "This is an utter disgrace."

"+What else could we have done?+" asked Bylan who had only recently been inducted into the squad's secret mission.

"We could have done something" snarled Furion.

Toran overrode him saying, "We are doing something but we must be circumspect and cunning, if we act rashly it could spark a civil war, none of us want to become kinslayers."

"+We are few and they are many+" said Bylan, "+How can we change anything?+"

Toran replied, "The path to victory is never clear but one must walk it nonetheless, trust in Captain Phalros he will see us through."

"Well he better hurry up" said Persion.

Toran paused in his stride to look at Persion and he continued, "I have been listening in to some unsecured reports in the last few weeks, this campaign has provoked a response from Imperial authorities. The Ecclesiarchy in particular are apocalyptic, they do not like anyone poaching upon their spiritual territory. The cardinals have openly condemned us and sent missives to Terra seeking to have us declared renegades and sentenced to a penitent crusade."

"That is only one step down from being declared Excommunicate Traitoris." said Daite aghast.

"Yes and that is far from the worst of it" replied Persion, "Rumour abound that the High Lords have petitioned the Lord Macragge himself on the matter of the proselytising."

That drew the attention of everybody and Daite asked, "What was his response?"

"Marneus Calgar sent back five words" said Persion grimly, " _Incompatible with the Codex Astartes."_

Everybody sucked in sharp breath at the pronouncement of doom, for a Chapter who claimed to be Codex compliant there could not possibly be any stricter judgement. It was more than a condemnation; from the spiritual liege of all Ultramarine Successors it was effectively saying that they were no sons of Guilliman.

Toran shook his head and said "We best hurry up, Captain Phalros is waiting."

They marched briskly through the camp and soon approached Phalros' billet, they were ushered inside by his equerry and found the Captain sitting behind his desk conversing with Sergeant Nimodes. The space seemed very cramped with ten Space Marines inside but there was nowhere else secure enough to risk talking.

Phalros greeted the squad with his most senatorial gaze as he said, "You may stand at ease, Nimodes I and were just discussing recent affairs. I had no idea there were so many Sergeants in Tenth Company who felt as we do."

Nimodes nodded and said, "Strange that we should have independently arrived at the same conclusions and I for one never suspected Chapter Master Gorgall was also on our side. Imagine what we could do now we are all working together."

Toran looked his Captain and asked, "We are glad to have fresh allies in our struggle but was there some pressing reason you needed to see us Sir?"

Phalros didn't seem disgruntled by the subtle jamb but instead said, "Yes recent events have overtaken us, the campaign here has brought things to a head and we must act. Our subtle efforts are no longer sufficient, it is time to start making some headway and that begins by putting our people in the right places, we need more friends in the highest ranks of the Chapter."

Toran frowned and said, "Sir I do not follow you."

Nimodes grinned and said, "For all those brains he's not too quick on the uptake… we are taking about you."

"Me?" asked Toran in surprise.

"Yes" replied Phalros, "Word has reached the Masters that single handed you eliminated the heretic governor and reclaimed the Chapter's past and its future."

Behind the Sergeant Novak quietly muttered, "I was there too" but Phalros pointedly ignored him.

He carried on to say, "This is yet one more victory you have claimed whose repercussions echo far beyond your squad and company. Forging alliances with the Mechanicus, facing the Dusk Prince twice and living to tell of it and now this, it is undeniable your achievements have affected the entire Chapter. The Masters agree wholeheartedly and they have sent an astropathic communiqué proclaiming that you are to be rewarded."

Phalros and Nimodes stood up and the Captain extended his hand as he said, "Congratulations, by direct order from the council of Masters Brother Toran is hereby promoted to First Company."

Toran shook his hand as Pyrus squad gasped in shock; the First Company was the home of the Chapter's finest warriors and greatest heroes. It was more than a promotion; it was a chance for Toran to write his name in the Chapter's histories. The very greatest and most lauded victories of the Chapter had been won by the heroes of First Company and some of those marines still had their names read out on holy days millennia after they were dead.

To be elevated so should be the highest honour for any battle brother yet the achievement was tarnished by the knowledge that this was more a political appointment than pure merit. There was also a quiet voice whispering in the back of Toran's mind that he would no longer be a Sergeant, no longer leader of a squad but a subordinate once more.

He dismissed the unworthy thought and said, "I thanks you Captain, I shall bring honour to the Storm Heralds."

"See that you do" replied Phalros "And take care to watch your tongue, we do not know if we have any friends in First Company."

Toran nodded but then a thought crossed his mind and he said, "Sir may I ask, who will take over as Sergeant for Pyrus squad?"

Phalros replied frankly, "There are several promising names but we wondered if you had any recommendations?"

Toran didn't even have to hesitate as he said, "Brother Furion, he would make an exemplary Sergeant."

Phalros looked surprised but after a moment nodded and said, "It is certainly merited; very well Sergeant Furion will command Pyrus squad from now on."

The squad were silently buoyed by the fact that they would continue to be led by someone they knew and then Nimodes clapped slowly and said, "Well aren't you lot going to congratulate your brother?"

With those words the squad broke ranks and gathered around the newly promoted Marine slapping his pauldrons and offering hearty praise. One by one they spoke to him and gave him their words for the future, Bylan was the first to say "+It has been an honour to serve under you+"

Toran responded, "And with you, keep to your purpose and you will become a great warrior."

Daite was the next, clapping a pauldron with one metal hand as he said, "Greatness awaits you."

Toran jested, "Is that a vision?"

Diate grinned and replied, "Merely an expectation."

Jediah followed him saying, "The fight will not be the same without you."

"Nor without you" said Toran surprised by the emotional remark from his normally staid brother.

Novak pushed him aside and said, "Try to leave some glory for the rest of us."

Toran laughed and "With you in the field it will be us struggling to keep up."

Halis Paur waited for Toran to move on then said with typical bitter cynicism said, "Watch your back among those glory hounds and be careful who you trust."

Toran nodded entirely used to his brother's sour attitude and said, "I will remember that."

Persion stepped up and much more warmly said, "Well done, this is a great achievement, just don't let it go to your head."

Toran smiled and said, "I will always have the memory of you to keep me humble."

Last of all was Furion who gripped one arm wrist to wrist in a warrior's grip saying "I have watched you grow these last decades into a fine leader and glory awaits but always remember your roots... and your friends."

"Do not worry, this is not the end for us it is only a beginning" replied Toran, "I remain confident that one day we shall fight together once more."


	13. Chapter 13

_Presenting a teaser for a future story: Noctem Oritur_

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

The planet had no name and even if it did to speak it would drive a man mad, for this world had known the touch of the warp and had long since been reduced to a blasted wasteland. On a nameless plain of fused glass shards stood two beings of immense stature, one carried a staff crested with a three headed serpent and had a helm with four horns rising from it. The other was even taller and was clad in armour decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes; he bore a massive double headed axe and was kneading the haft with his gauntlets.

They stood still as statues under the burning sun waiting amid the blazing heat haze for the arrival of another party. As they waited the giant impatiently turned to the other and said, "Beta how long are we going to stand here."

Beta replied, "Patience Gamma, they think to prove their superiority by making us wait, don't be irritated or you hand them the advantage."

Gamma asked, "We already have several warbands under our flag why do we need more?"

Beta sighed in exasperation as he said, "We are not talking about raiding some dreary backwater but destroying an entire lapdog Chapter, we will need more troops than we already have."

Gamma said, "We already have thousands of cultists."

Beta actually laughed at that and said, "They are but the scum and dregs, good for soaking up bolt rounds but not much else, I was talking about real troops, Astartes not chaff. Vorshaan has his new prize but has not enough boots on the ground to complete the job, this warband is the largest of all those we have approached we need their numbers if nothing else."

Gamma growled, "Vorshaan is a strutting peacock, why bother with that fool, I could carve out his hearts and pin him up by those absurd wings like an insect."

"Now, now Gamma that is no way to talk about our illustrious leader" said Beta as he finally spied movement on the horizon, "Not until we have what we want anyway."

As stood talking a line of armoured silhouettes slowly came into view, growing clearer and more defined as they approached through the shimmering heat haze. As they closed the lurid colours and debauched images painted on their armour became clear, many of them had their helms off to reveal ritual scarification and self-inflicted wounds.

They all had spikes and claws adorning their armour and had stretched human skin over those spikes, some still with faces visible. On and on they came in perfect lines, until over fifty Chaos marines closed upon the pair.

At their head marched a purple clad Marine with a Charnabal sabre in one hand, he had peeled back the skin on the top of his head, holding it back with nails to reveal the bone of his skull. The leader grinned to show black teeth as he called out, "Beta! I thought that signal bore your slimy marks, don't tell me that you are still slumming it with the VIIIth legion?"

Beta bowed in welcome and said, "Greetings noble Jubila, scourge of Parathion, violator of Daska and defiler of the temples of Foreth."

Jubila did not seem impressed by the recitation of his titles as he said, "Beta that kind of flattery might work on your lord but I am not so easily swayed, what do you want?"

Beta stood straight and addressed him directly saying, "Very well right to business, we have called you here to announce Lord Vorshaan plans to destroy the lapdog Storm Heralds in their own home. You owe him a debt and he calls upon you to bring your forces to fight under his banner."

"Vorshaan?!" laughed Jubila and his warband laughed with him, "I know all about the Dusk Prince and his epic folly, tell him that we will not give him a single bolt round."

Gamma started forwards at that and snarled, "You owe him a debt!"

Jubila laughed scornfully and grinned as he said, "Everyone knows what debts and oaths are worth in the Warp, he has no hold on the scions of Fulgrim. I will confess it has been most amusing watching Vorshaan toiling on his monument to a lost age but we will never serve under someone who wastes ten thousand years working on an unrepairable relic."

Beta however was not laughing; instead he said flatly, "He has finished it."

That shut Jubila up and wiped the grin off his face, he sounded shocked as he said, "He's done what?"

Beta repeated, "Vorshaan's great creation, after ten thousand years of labour it is finally complete and ready to wage war. The defences will be no match for the power Vorshaan now commands, all he lacks is enough ground troops to seize the prize."

Silence greeted those words as the implications set in, the Chaos Marines glanced at each other and their leader, Jubila stood lost deep in thought then finally queried, "I presume others have already signed up?"

Beta nodded and said, "Thessus and his butcher horde, Killorn and his pestilent host and the Magi of Yuikai have already pledged their forces."

Jubila seemed to be seriously considering this and he said, "Even with Vorshaan's own household that only brings us to three hundred or so, not enough to take a whole Chapter."

Beta noted the way Jubila had included himself in the tally and replied, "Worry not we have a source who tells us the Storm Heralds will soon be quite busy, they will be forced to over deploy and when they do we strike. With their fortress monastery destroyed they will wither on the vine and fall into extinction."

Now Jubila seemed doubtful and said, "A source… you would trust the words of a Daemon?"

Beta shook his head and his horns carved the air apart as he replied, "No not a Daemon, something much more reliable."

"And what of the Black Legion?" asked Jubila suspiciously.

Beta stated, "Abaddon sends his regards and promises that should the mission succeed the Champions will be allowed to pledge themselves to the Legion, they will have positions of power in his next Black Crusade."

Jubila snorted saying, "In other words the Despoiler sends no troops but still expects a share of the spoils."

Beta cocked his head to one side and said, "Did you expect anything else from the Warmaster?"

Jubila grinned and said, "Not really… anyway we may see a way to signing up for this little venture but first you must prove your power to us."

Beta stared and said cautiously, "What did you have in mind?"

Jubila waved one of this followers forward, who had one hand that was nothing but a long blade and a long sinuous whip fused into the other. The leader of the Warband declared, "It is has been a slow morning, why not a Trial of Champions?"

"Very well" replied Beta has he stepped back and let Gamma stomp forwards until he and the other challenger were ten paces apart.

The two champions sized each other up, Gamma was larger and heavier the opponent was slimmer but more agile, it was obvious that this would be a trial of speed verses strength. They stood staring each other out, Jubila's champion curling his whip sinuously around his legs as Gamma kneaded at the haft of his axe.

Jubila took the sacred judge's place off to one side and announced, "By the Code of the Duello this bout is to the death, no blows or weapons disallowed. The duel will commence when I count to three….Ready, One."

As soon as the word left Jubila's lips his champion acted, flicking his whip forwards to ensnare Gamma's neck. Yet the brutish warrior was not surprised by the obvious cheating, as the coil snaked forwards he released one hand from his axe and caught it by the tip. The Challenger grinned, exhilarated by the prospect of the fight to come but he was not expecting what came next.

With one mighty heave Gamma wrenched the whip towards him pulling his opponent forwards and as he did so smashed his mighty axe into the chestplate. The weighty weapon had his full strength behind it and it shattered through the challenger's chest, carving apart ribs and organs until it protruded out of his backpack like a fin.

Gamma watched the life drain from his opponent's eyes then shook him off the axeblade and dropped the corpse to the ground. Jubila was laughing hysterically as he cried, "I love it, I love it! No foreplay at all, just right to the climax! Why not dump this XXth Legion snake and come fight for me, the rewards will be better."

Gamma however didn't say anything so it was Beta who stepped forwards and said, "I trust this means you are committed to Vorshaan's plan?"

Jubila wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he said, "Yes, yes, we will come but tell him I expect my share of the spoils."

Beta bowed and said, "Rest assured once we win there will be more plunder and slaves than even you know what to do with. Wait for our call and when the time is right the Storm Heralds shall be annihilated."


End file.
